


Feathers to Ashes

by infiniteworld8



Category: The Book Thief - Markus Zusak
Genre: Canon Jewish Character, Concentration Camps, Corpse Desecration, Death, Difficult Decisions, Disturbing Themes, Execution, Forced Prostitution, Genocide, Germany, Graphic Description of Corpses, Harm to Children, Historical Accuracy, Historical References, Holocaust, Human Experimentation, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Mass Death, Nazis, On Hiatus, Original Character Death(s), POV Jewish Character, Prisoner of War, Prostitution, Psychological Torture, Starvation, Survivor Guilt, War Crimes, Work In Progress, World War II
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-14
Updated: 2017-04-12
Packaged: 2017-12-31 12:12:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 37,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1031591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infiniteworld8/pseuds/infiniteworld8
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Hans shows one act of kindness to a Jewish man doomed to die, Max is forced to leave the relative safety of Himmel street. But how can a man who has lived the last four years in hiding survive? How can a Jew hunted and condemned have a life?</p><p>Max's journey is just beginning the moment he sets foot outside 33 Himmel street. From hiding in Munich to the horrors of Auschwitz and Dachau Max walks in the shadow of death every day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story has tried to be as historically accurate as possible. I've done quite a bit of research to try to As a result the descriptions in this story are especially vivid. 
> 
> As a result this story will start out a T and progress to M. I will change the rating and note when this becomes needed.
> 
> The style is the original from the book thief and as a result may be fragmented at times. Also there will be many phrases of German, these are meant for emphasis. in most cases a translation will be provided, but not always. And now please enjoy the story...
> 
> Note: This fic was originally published 2013. I have had about 50K of it sitting on my hardrive for years. Some recent messages have given me the impetus I needed to finish this so here goes, wish me luck and comment if you like!

 

Feathers to Ashes

Part one

The Last Pages of A song in the Dark

Featuring:

A lonely day—an overfilled paint tin—

An unexpected departure— A pile of treasures—

Another ill-received meal —Two near misses

The story of the book thief was just a strand of one much longer story, as were _The Standover Man_ and _The Word Shake_ r. Many works, however brilliant, terrible or comprehensive they try to be, are just a fragment of time, a piece that I’ve been allowed to be privy to.  I can be in several places at once. I have to be for my type of job, so while I was watching one small girl who knew such power as can only be gotten from a few words penned but can change a world, I was watching the lonely man hidden in her basement who had intersected with her life and changed both of theirs.

I watched him many times, I almost grabbed his soul and carried it away as gentle as a baby’s but each time, (perhaps he felt me?)  he tugged it back.  He was a fighter, he had always been, but he wasn’t fighting for himself, each time he wanted to stop, to let me have him, a memory floated by. Almost a premonition of what could be, a girl with a tear-stained face and empty eyes as she heard of his death.

And so each time, he would pick himself up or draw one more breath and a single name, Liesel would ring through his mind.  It’s interesting the connections in human’s lives. Max’s father had saved Hans. Hans had saved Liesel. Liesel saved Max and Max saved her.

***** A NOTE ON HUMANITY*****

**Humans could be each other’s saviour**

**They wait for divine intervention**

**but they are the ones who need to intervene.**

**They need to save themselves from themselves**

**And few do.**

Max was sitting in the steady gloom of the basement on Himmel, shadows dripped down the wall with a regularity that was tedious. Max was used to tedium; he had endured it while waiting all that time in hiding at the warehouse, with only sporadic visits from Walter to break it up. He was used to quiet, silence, pretending not to exist.

Indeed, I think that if it wasn’t for one girl, he would have simply faded away. He came close, but she pulled him back. He was saved from meeting me, by of all things, half-melted snowflakes, crumpled dirty newspapers, a broken rusty tin soldier, a flattened ball…and a tear drop that landed on his face.

The kerosene lamp placed in the middle of the floor offered a faded light.  A sickly yellow glow suffused the room, like spoiled lemons. Max was crouched on the floor, resting on a paint tin, a make-shift book with crackly pages, stiff with dried paint rested on his leg. In his hand he held a pen. The point of the pen rested on the page making a large blot but he wasn’t paying attention. Instead he was straining to hear the voices above him.  

One was loud and insistent, Mama. The other was quiet and firm, but placating, Hans. Max couldn’t make out the words, but he heard the occasional words of Jew, and basement and he knew they were discussing him.

He listened for another voice, this one would be quiet, soft, but so memorable, but its presence was absent. As the voices grew louder and yet more indistinct and the familiar sound of an argument grew, Max felt slightly guilty. The voyeurism bothered him, but it was one of the few things he had.  He frequently listened to the voices of the other occupants of the house; it was all he had to do for long hours every day. Nobody could spend much time with him, Mama had work to do, as did Hans, and Liesel had school and friends that would have wondered at her absence.

So all there was were fragments. . Bright, abrupt and too soon over quick snatches of Liesel as she brought him, weather, pieces of news, fragmented shreds of life and yet still sensible as only a child could make them.   Hushed conversations with Mama, as she brought him fresh sheets or a bowl of food.  Smoky and near silent minutes with Hans as they discussed sports, politics, whatever they could that wasn’t the most pressing topic and yet the ones they couldn’t talk about. How long could he stay in the basement? How long would he have to? How long could he stand to before he finally wanted out no matter the cost?

Max strained to hear as the voices dimmed to where he couldn’t even distinguish garbled words. His shoulders creaked as he moved them and as he stood his legs ached. He had no idea how long he had remained listening to Hans and his wife, he had no idea how long he had spent before that crouched over his notebook writing words that nobody would see and that he wanted nobody to see.

The story of one Jew was worth nothing, the only thing that would be gotten if it was discovered was a visit with me. 

Max’s body was worn with misuse, weeks of freezing cold, hours of silent motionless crouching; long periods of loneliness had worn him down mind and body.  He longed to smell fresh air, to eat food with others, to sleep in a bed. He longed to feel alive and human.

*****A SECOND NOTE ON HUMANITY*****

**Human’s treasure their humanity.**

**The love, the hate, the fear, the joy, all the emotions that make up them.**

**They cherish who they are, at least most do.**

**I envy humans. I envy all they have and all they do.**

**I envy that they have an end.**

**But I don’t envy what they are like when there humanity is stripped away.**

**I don’t envy the atrocious actions they can be capable of.**

**At those times I’m happy being who I am.**

**At least, I can relieve some of the suffering**

**Even if I often inadvertently cause more.**

Instead Max breathed in air laced with the smell of his own waste and the fumes of kerosene…and fear.  He ate alone, trying to gulp down pitiful bowls of food before there warmth left them. Instead he slept on a ragged hard mattress, silent even in his nightmares. He was a shadow of life.

He consciously wasn’t aware what time it was, but his body was. He winced as his stomach rumbled and a sharp thrill of hunger tore through, adding to the ever present ache that had lodged in him from a combination of fear and lack of food. He ventured to the tarpaulins under the stairs, which skilfully—if raggedly disguised the home of one Jew. He carefully replaced his book and his pen. Then he drank several mouthfuls from a bottle Mama had left last time she visited. The cold water sated his appetite partly, but another urge replaced his hunger.

This one was more easily satisfied, at least most of the time. Max carefully removed the lid of the paint can, and held his breath as the odour of his own waste assaulted him. He quickly started to relieve himself, but he was forced to stop after a few seconds, the paint tin was almost full. The sludge in the tin lapped at the sides threatening to go over at the new addition. Max fixed his trousers and carefully replaced the lid to the tin. He shifted uncomfortably at the still full sensation of his bladder. He wished the paint can wasn’t so full.

He frowned; it occurred to him that he hadn’t seen anybody that day. Mama hadn’t brought him food. Hans hadn’t come as he usually did in the morning to talk with him and empty his paint can. Liesel hadn’t visited with a newspaper, or the weather. He tried to remember what day it was, but no holiday suggested itself, no other matters could he remember that anybody had mentioned to explain their absence.

Max broke from his reverie as he heard quiet footsteps descending the basement steps; he turned in time to meet Hans. The man’s face was grave, like somebody had died.

Immediately, Max remembered he hadn’t heard or seen Liesel that day.  Hans started to speak. “Something happened today Max. The worst has happened--”

Before the sentence could be finished, four words were spoken, and with them came the sound of somebody who has found their last remnant of their world destroyed.  The words were tinged in darkness, like a sky before a storm devours all the light.“What happened to Liesel?”

Han’s expression turned curious and he frowned. Then he spoke “Liesel’s fine, Max.”

Max’s breath came again; all he could simply do was breath. Hans asked. “Why did you think something happened to Liesel?”

“I haven’t seen anybody, for—I think almost a day. Not even Liesel.” His voice had a wisp of unintended reproach.

Hans frowned, and he glanced guiltily around. Max saw him sniff the air where the smell of urine still lingered.  A wash of colour rose to Max face and neck; it was a pale pink, the colour of embarrassment.  An apology for something he had very little reason to apologise for stumbled from his lips. “I’m sorry; the paint can is almost full.”

Hans waved off the apology, silence fell. Both he and Max stared at each other. Then a small missile landed in the middle of the quiet. “Max, you have to leave.”

Max blinked, for several minutes, that was all he could do. He stared at Hans who was still watching him; his expression hadn’t changed almost like he wasn’t aware of what he had said. Max couldn’t believe what Hans had said and yet he had expected it. They were finally doing it. They had finally realized what he was. He was a Jew, he was evil. He was vermin.

He wondered idly what had brought about the change, had the Führer released another literary masterpiece and Hans had finally seen the truth, he had finally seen the truth to rid the world of the Jewish abomination. He had finally seen the reason to clean his basement of the Jewish filth sheltering under his steps.

Or was it out of fear for his family? Had Hans finally realised the risk he was putting everybody through just for one man? If this was the reason, at least this one Max could accept.

He wanted to know the reason, he wanted to ask why. But he didn’t because he couldn’t bear to know if the motive was what he thought it was. If he was going to the camps. If he was being sent to die, he preferred to think it was because Hans was trying to save lives and not because he merely wanted one man’s death.  He preferred to have something good to remember.

So Max simply said “yes.” He was in perfect agreement; he needed to go, if only because he was no longer wanted. He needed to go. One question, a bleak hope really but a possibility he had to know, suggested itself. “Can-can I go on my own? I promise if –when I’m caught I won’t mention you or your family…or-or did you call for the Gestapo already?”

Hans reeled as if struck. Shock and horrified understanding coated his face in an unhealthy pallor.

“Why?—“ Hans broke off his question, he didn’t have to ask why Max would think he would do such a thing. Why would it be hard for the man to believe another person had turned against him when a whole nation already had?

Instead Hans said “you misunderstand. We’re not making you leave, I’m not asking you to leave, but it’s not safe any longer here.”

*****AN INTERRUPTION*****

**The words of humans are so contradictory.**

**It was the middle of a war. The world was at war.**

**There was nowhere that was safe.**

**Except maybe with me...**

Max fell silent, he simply stared but he read the truth of Hans' words in his eyes and he felt a pitiful sense of relief that the three people, who had shown him kindness hadn’t been the ones to betray him.

Hesitantly and with words drenched in guilt and anger at himself, Hans slowly told the story that had led to Max’s need for departure. Hans raised his eyes and with the hint of tears in his eyes murmured. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that. If I hadn’t given that man the bread then...” Hans trailed off, there was nothing that he could say that would  change his crime.

His crime was humanity.

Max pardoned him anyway. “You did what was right.” More silence and then this time the next words that were spoken were plans. What to do? Where would Max go? When would he leave? And the hardest question of all, how could he avoid being caught?

Max and Hans discussed in the dank, smelly basement for several minutes , perhaps longer, neither man was sure of the time. Finally Rosa joined them, Max glanced at her and saw that she already knew. He finally understood what the conversation earlier was about.  Rosa listened in silence to the discussion and it was she who provided the solution.

*****THE SOLUTION*****

**An unwanted piece of washing.**

Rosa Hubermann didn’t make much money from her job. In fact since the war her precious few coins had diminished greatly, but she did take immense pride in her work. She scrubbed each article of clothing like it was a personal insult for a stain to remain, any blemishes received a _Saumensch_ or _Saukerl_ just as a person would have .

She was particular about her work and about her money. An offense to one was an offense to the other. And one person had offended her twice. The person was an older lady, Frau Stukenborg, approximately less than five feet high and with a body that could have been blown away by a light gust. Her diminutive stature belied her achievements.

*****HER ACHIEVEMENTS*****

**Five sons.**

She had enormous pride in her children, not only were her boy’s strong, healthy, and intelligent but one of their aspects was considered by her to be the best of all. The entire five were accepted into Hitler’s army. The day she heard the news her heart swelled with joy, the glory they would bring to the fatherland was all she could think of. She imagined them decimating the scourge of Jews and raising up the Aryan nation. She imagined her boys  standing on a pile of bodies as they raised their hands in victory.

The woman was very blood thirsty.

 One of her son’s gave her a ruined uniform of his to keep.  It was a souvenir stained with blood. Not an appropriate gift for most mothers but perfect for one mother. Frau Stukenborg, gave it to Rosa to clean and repair. “Perfect, Frau Hubermann, it must be perfect.”

She had a thing for perfection.

Rosa worked late into the night, stitching, patching carefully mending. She scrubbed at reluctant stains until the water ran a rusty red. It took her days , but finally the clothes were fit for the Führer’s finest again. Rosa carefully starched the uniform and went to inform Frau Stukenborg of her success and receive payment.

Rosa waited in front of the door uniform in hand and thoughts of extra rations that night in her head. The door was opened on the third ring, by a woman shrunken with sorrow. Grief tugged her mouth. Rosa frowned but held out the uniform. She waited for payment and perhaps a compliment. She received “Take it away, i don’t want it.”

Rosa stared in shock, and then she demanded payment for her work. The only payment she received was “All five, dead. Perfectly dead.” and a slammed door.

For once perfection wasn’t appreciated.

Anger at her stolen pay , hurtled through Rosa but she was use to disappointment. She carried the uniform home and hung it in a closet. Before she shut the door on the sorry sight she hurtled a “ _Sauker_ l in its direction.” The uniform wisely remained silent.

Now, Max and Hans both turned as Rosa spoke. “I know how.”

Without a word she left and returned with two things, one was the uniform, the other was Liesel. Max greeted the first with a look of disdain, the other , the girl received a pleasant if sad smile.

Liesel returned the smile, but hers was wavering and threatening to drip with tears. To take his mind off what was happening he glanced again at the uniform.  He made no move to take the fabric. 

“here” The voice of Rosa harsh and swift, brought reality back to all of them.  She forced the uniform into Max’s hands the fabric trembled slightly as  she passed it over. Max nearly collapsed under the weight of the garment, it was heavy with the knowledge of what it was. A weak “Danke” dropped from his lips.

Rosa shook her head and pushed her hands against her hips. “No thanks, put it on sauk—“ The insult petered out, it didn’t feel right to insult Max; she never had before and to do so now was to change something.

To cover her lapse Rosa put a large hand on Hans and Liesel pushing them towards the steps of the basement. Her voice was loud, but not loud enough to hide the quiver as she said “Move, both of you, don’t stand here and watch him dress _Arschlochs_.”

Three footsteps slowly pressed down on the creaky stairs; Two were heavy with guilt, the other with weight of another loss.

Max waited until he heard the door shut. The he carefully  examined the uniform he held. He noticed the faint repairs where Rosa had meticulously patched it. He sniffed the almost indiscernible smell of washing and cedar. He noticed the patches of death that clung to the fabric. And slowly he pulled the uniform on.

 It took him quite a long time, few people can dress quickly in something I have lingered in. I think they feel the faint remnants of me. Death slows people down, don’t ask me why, I don’t know.

Max finally was dressed. The uniform that was supposed to be his salvation from the Nazi terror was also the uniform that had been worn as the person wearing it disposed of hundreds of Jews. The irony of the situation made Max sick.

He was swallowing sharply when a quiet voice called down. “Max, are you decent?”

Decent? How could anybody be decent wearing the savage thing he wore? He didn’t speak the thought instead he swallowed again allowing the acid that coated his mouht to trickle down his throat and he answered. “Ja.”

There was silence and then the sound of approaching footsteps. Slowly Rosa, Hans and Liesel drifted down the steps. They stared at him with fearful recognition and sorrow. Rosa once again took it upon herself to break the silence.

“You look too thin.” The truth bold and blunt was what everybody expected from her an she gave no less. She followed through her first statement with “ It’s that sickness that did it, Max.” The final statement had a hint of challenge, like she was daring anybody to state the obvious, they all were thin, they all had eaten less, they all had lost weight. Mama wanted to be firmly convinced otherwise, it was sickness and not scanty meals that made his clothes hang off him. Anything else was an insult to her.

“Mama can take it in a bit.” Hans the practical , one said.

Max nodded, and turned to Liesel, the only one who hadn’t spoken to him since they had found out. “Well?” It was her opinion he cared about more than anything.

“You look like a Nazi.”  The words were whispered , a child’s observation. Liesel spoke again, this time her voice was stronger. Her lips curved in a weak smile. “A Nazi with hair like twigs.”

Max smiled, it was more like a pathetic grimace. “Thanks Liesel.”

There was more silence; they wondered what to do. Hans spoke. “You still have the papers from when you came here. I think I can get you some others and maybe a pass for visiting. It’ll look like you’re just a soldier home to visit his family unless someone looks to close.”

Max opened his mouth to protest but Hans was already shaking his head to quiet him. “I have to.”

Max closed his mouth without speaking, he stared into Hans silver eyes with his own murky ones and tried to fathom how one person could do so much, could risk so much for one who didn’t deserve it.

The moment of searching was destroyed as a voice cut through. “Take it off, and I’ll bring it in and take up the hem.”

They left and Max was alone he quickly undressed, glad to take off the uniform that was his salvation but felt like his death.  He waited for somebody to tell him what to do next. He didn’t dare call out, minutes passed and he heard hesitant foot steps, they paused on the  steps. A voice floated out “Max, can I come down?” It was Liesel.

He nodded before he remembered, she couldn’t see him.  “Yes” he replied instead.

Liesel slowly came down the steps. She stopped in front of him. Her lower lip was held between her teeth. Her hands were clenched in fists. She steeled herself and then said . “mama, sent me to get the clothes. She said for you to wash.”  She was proud she said the words and her voice only quivered once.

Max nodded, he started to speak but he couldn’t think of anything to say. He passed his the uniform to Liesel  and watched as she started to  walk back up the stairs. She paused halfway up and leaned down. “Are you coming?”

Max was startled by the question. Liesel read the silent question in his eyes. “Mama shut the curtains.” She gulped and said. “She said it doesn’t matter what the neighbours think...Not anymore.”

Before he could speak, Liesel had raced up the stairs. He stared after her then he put out the kerosene lamp and followed.

When he arrived upstairs the curtains were firmly closed, the house was dim. Max stood in the kitchen with a strange feeling of terrified excitement. He drank in the memory of the kitchen; he glanced at the faint light still filtering through the windows. He stared at the pot of food Mama had simmering on the stove. He noticed Liesel bent over in a corner of the kitchen furiously scrubbing a spot on the sleeve of his uniform. She didn’t look up as he walked closer.

His observations were interrupted by the arrival of two people, laden with their worldly treasures.

*****THE COMPOSITION OF TREASURE*****

**A small handful of cigarettes.**

**A few broken pieces of jewellery.**

**One accordion.**

Max could only stare at Hans and Rosa as they dumped the contents on the table and their voices quickly discussed with each other.

“Do you think it’s enough?”

“It has to be enough, it’s all we have.”

“Maybe the coffee ration, also.”

“The _Saukerl_ , is already getting enough.” Rosa argued but seconds later she dropped the small bag of coffee down next to the meagre pile.

Both Hans and Rosa stared at their belongings, their treasures, littering the table. They shook their heads , and hungry eyes roved the room searching for more to add.

“The sugar?” Hans asked.

“Filthy _Arschloch_ , why don’t we give our blood too.” Rosa muttered, as she added the jar of sugar to the pile.

Hans nodded as he examined the pile it was better, but still not good enough. It was a small amount for the cost of giving one Jew a chance at life.

Liesel silently rose and without consulting with any of them, she too examined the treasures on the table then she left the room. Barely a minute later she returned.

Her arms were crammed. she dropped her burden on the table. “Here.”

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph, where did you get all these from?” Rosa turned to stare at Liesel.

Liesel gritted her teeth, then she answered “They’re Max’s.”

“Saumensch, don’t lie, he had nothing but a filthy suitcase when he came here.”

“They’re Max’s.” Was repeatedly unashamedly.

“You want a _watschen_?” Mama threatened already going for one of her wooden spoons.

She advanced on Liesel; the young girl stared back at her defiantly. “They’re Max’s.”

Liesel was about to get the _watschen_ to rival all others when a voice rusty and threatening to drift back to its former volume said “Stop!”

They all turned toward the source of the noise. All eyes stared at Max in disbelief; they had never heard him yell, never.  His voice was always quiet, ready to hide away and feign non-existence at any moment.

Finally Mama spoke. “Don’t yell so loud, Max and these aren’t yours. “

“They aren’t but...they are.” Max ignored Rosa’s doubt; there was no way to explain how he owned part of the books. There was no way to explain how Liesel had given him the words, during long hours in the basement, or while he had been half conscious  for days. There was no need to explain how she was trying to give them to him now, to save his life. That was for him and her only to know.

“Thanks Liesel.” He said, catching her eyes and noting how she steadfastly refused to look at the small pile of books she had dropped down. He saw the regret in her eyes and he saw the resolve to.

To Hans Max said “I can’t let you do this.”

“Yes, you can. It’s my fault, if I—“

“I can’t let you do this.” Max slowly placed the sugar back on the counter. “Not for me, never for me.” He sat the coffee back in its rightful position. He grabbed the jewellery and placed the tarnished necklaces around Rosa’s neck, he dropped the broken rings and bracelets in her hands. He shoved the handful of cigarettes back into Han’s pockets; he hoisted the accordion into his arms.

Lastly he scooped the books off the table and dropped them in the book thief’s arms.

Everybody stared first at the treasure he had returned and then they turned to him.  Max stood alone in the middle of the kitchen. “You’ve done enough, all of you.” He whispered the words and meant them.

Mama, snorted. “We didn’t keep you all this time for you to die.” The truth hung blunt and cutting in the air. Max paled slightly as did Liesel and Hans.

Hans, quickly interjected. “Max, I have to do this. I—“

Liesel’s reply to Max’s words was to replace her stack of books on the table. Max watched as the all followed suit. A short but furious argument broke out between the four of them, it was laced with _Saukerls_ by Mama and quiet rationalizations by Han’s, short but fierce refusals from Max and telling silence by Liesel.

Finally it was decided, a compromise was reached. Hans refused to have it any other way.  It was his fault, his foolishness, he would pay  the price.

Refusing to listen to any more protests, Hans gathered the cigarettes from the table, he hoisted up the accordion and looked regretfully at the coffee and sugar ration, he glanced at the books and jewellery and then he left the house.

Nobody spoke in the kitchen until they heard Hans footsteps fade. Rosa startled them all by barking. “Stop staring Saumensch and get this filth off my clean table. She made as if to sweep the books to the floor but instead turned to stir whatever she had simmering on the stove.  She had already grabbed her jewellery in one large hand and shoved it in the pocket of her apron.

Max was largely ignored. Liesel went back to washing the uniform, Mama stirred the soup a last time then began peeling potatoes. Max lingered unsure what to do.

Finally he went to the table and grabbed a potato. he selected a knife and began carefully peeling the vegetable. Rosa watched him  in silence. she let him peel three potatoes then her sense came back to her. She snatched the potato from Max, the knife slipped and he nicked his finger. Rosa didn’t notice she was to busy with admonishments. “Your hands are filthy, you’ll make us all sick. You need to wash sauk—“ She broke off one of her favourite insults and instead went to a basket of washing waiting to be folded. She selected a towel and a wash rag and wordlessly tugged Max towards the washroom. A rough bar of soap was forced into his hand, a comb was added.  A razor was found and brought. Then Rosa left and returned seconds late with a tub of luke-warm water. She filled the wash tub and then returned with a boiling pot . Silently she poured the water in, causing steam to billow. Then she turned and barked . “Now wash.”

Max was left alone, he licked the blood off his finger where it was still slowly dripping from his cut, then he undressed and slid into the water.

It was beautiful to finally get clean, his last full bath had been after he had woken up from his weeks-long illness. And it had been a thorough but gentle wash at the hands of Rosa Hubermann.  He blushed slightly at the thought and was grateful that memory was still hazy with the after effects of illness.

He washed slowly lathering himself and rinsing off repeatedly. He shaved and when the water finally was cold and he was clean, he dressed in the fresh clothes, Rosa had left him.

He walked out into the kitchen, Liesel had finished cleaning the uniform, it hung near the stove drying. Max saw Mama had already hemmed it .  Rosa was now standing near the stove wrapping packages of food. She glanced away from what she was doing and muttered, “humph.” She appraised his appearance then appearing satisfied turned back to her task. She finished wrapping a lump of food in parchment and then yelled “Shears Saumensch.”

To Max , she ordered .”Sit.” One finger pointed at a stool sitting in the middle of the floor. Max sat, Rosa was formidable when she gave an order. Liesel arrived with the shears. She handed them to Rosa, Max watched apprehensively as the older woman clacked the blades together and then apparently satisfied told Liesel. “Now , watch a proper haircut.”

Her pride had been wounded when Max had asked  Liesel that one time. She was determined to prove she could do a better job.  Max’s only order this time was “don’t move.”

He sat perfectly still and resisted the urge to shut his eyes . The first click of shears brought wisps of  hair down to land on his shoulders, he watched as more clumps drifted down to land on the ground, his lap. Finally  Rosa stopped and grabbed a mirror, she passed it to Max at the same time gesturing for Liesel to gather the hair lying on her kitchen floor.

Max brushed his hair off himself and examined his hair cut, it was neater than Liesel’s had been, his hair was even; clumps weren’t missing. He bore more resemblance to a human than a poorly shorn sheep.  Still, he preferred Liesel’s haircut to Rosa’s.

“As many mistakes.” He had told , Liesel when she had picked up the shears. And he had meant it. Rosa’s haircut was almost perfect, and there was something about perfection, that he found awful. Perfection, was one of the reason’s he was in his predicament. Hitler sought perfection with his master race; every person that wasn’t similar wasn’t perfect.  Cripples, the sickly, so many others and... Jews. Things that weren’t perfect deserved to die.

Perfection killed.

Max didn’t say what he thought, instead he allowed a half-formed “Danke” to seep from his lips, it was almost transparent. Rosa gave a grunt in response.

Max was about to venture back to the basement, he felt it was where he belonged if only for the next few hours. Mama intercepted him. “Sit.”

It was odd to not to be going back to his basement hideaway. Somehow it made  everything  formal, it made it permanent that he was leaving. it emphasised that it didn’t matter where he stayed because nowhere on Himmel street was safe now, he was in just as much danger sheltering under dank basement steps as he was sitting in the darkened kitchen.

Max sat at the kitchen table, Liesel joined him.  Mama came also. They stared at each other. Finally Liesel rose, she silently left the table, and silently retuned. Clasped in her hand was a book _A song in the Dark_. She sat down at the table and turned the pages, she started where she had left off reading.

Max listened to the words, Mama rose and lit another candle and then she too listened. The words were there but Max couldn’t distinguish them, the story was a fleeting  moment.  He finally gave up trying to listen and instead allowed his mind to wander. The dim candle light was making him sleepy and he soon gave in.


	2. Chapter 2

Max was awoken by a small knock, he picked his head off the able and found Hans had arrived home during his slumber.  Max noticed Hans had returned with two things, the accordion and a packet of papers. , “ He didn’t want it.” He explained as Max’s eyes roamed over the accordion. Then Hans emptied the packet of papers on the table and slowly explained what each one was, before finally returning them all to the packet and sliding it over to Max.

Max stared at Hans and tried again. “Thank—“

Hans waved the words off. There was more silence and Max yawned unable to stifle the urge and at that moment his stomach grumbled reminding him of the length of time between his last meal.

Hans, asked. “Did you eat?”

Mama answered for Max , with a hint of anybody suggesting it was her fault was going to be in trouble. “He fell asleep while we were waiting for you _Saukerl_.”

Hans merely watched as she grabbed a bowl off the counter and ladled it full of soup, a spoon was jabbed into the bowl and the whole concoction was placed in front of Max.

Max surveyed the food, noting the brownish –green colour, and the murky unidentifiable lumps.  It was viscous, with a texture that was nearly unpalatable, but it was food. Max stared at the bowl, feeling guilty that he was sitting in a warm kitchen with food, when elsewhere somebody, like him, maybe his own age—maybe with his own name was slowly starving away locked waiting to die. He imagined all the people that would have begged and even killed for a mouthful. “Pea soup.” He murmured.

“What did you say?” Rosa asked, but Max shook his head and instead  picked up the spoon. Rosa settled at the table next to Hans and across from Liesel.  She watched as he ate the first bite; they all watched.

Pea soup. It was somehow fitting, it was his first meal at the Hubermanns and it would be his last. Hans slowly interspersed Max’s swallows of the thick soup with fragments of the plan they had developed that day.

A meal of addresses, checkpoints to avoid, places to stop at, IDs to use were scattered with mouthfuls of soup. The soup was a welcome addition to his empty stomach at first but the more Hans talked the more it bubbled unpleasantly.

Unaware of the turmoil they both were causing one Jew with their actions, Hans continued talking and Rosa refilled Max’s empty bowl. Max unwillingly, but not wanting to offend, drank in both. Hans finished the last pieces of his convoluted plan as Max was swallowing the last spoonfuls of soup.

Hans asked. “Do you have any questions?”

Max laid down his spoon and swallowed forcefully.  The soup and the words had formed a thick wad in his throat. He had a lot of questions. Did anybody expect any of these plans to work? Would they execute him immediately when they found him or would he be sent to a camp? How would he finally die? Would it have been better if he had stayed with his family and they could have all died together at least? Max shook his head slightly preferring to keep his mouth shut.

He couldn’t stop thinking about what he was about to do. The mere thought of stepping outside after he hadn’t for almost two years made him feel panicked. Images of being shot, hung, or any of the other ways Jews were killed raced though his mind. Rosa asked a question of her own as she rose and gathered his bowl. “More soup, Max?” It was her contribution to the plan. If they were going to send him, out at least he would either live or die with a full stomach.

Max, stomach was churning with the combination of the thick soup and the heavy words it felt like a lead ball, which was fighting to get out.

Instead of words, Rosa’s answer was a Jew rushing past her to vomit in her sink. His fingers gripped the metal tightly as his body shuddered She stared in disapproval as he heaved. Finally he turned around. His voice was hoarse and stumbling, from the exertions. “I’m sorry, I think—I’m nervous and that’s—“

Rosa ignored his excuses. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, what a waste of soup.” She brushed past Max, only pausing to hand him a damp rag for his mouth before she began cleaning the sink.

“It was not the soup. “ She murmured, with a hint of challenge to nobody in particular. Nobody took her implied dare and disagreed.

Max went back to the table. He wiped his face with the damp cloth and trembling hands. His breath was still coming in harsh gasps and wouldn’t slow. He was freezing and yet he was drenched in sweat and ...fear.  His fingers twisted the sweaty cloth, tying to strangle it.

He couldn’t stop thinking. In a few hours he would be out on the streets of Germany, little better than an animal for slaughter. He felt ashamed of his own cowardice. It was his turn. What made him better than any of the other Jews? What made him better than the rest of his family? It was his turn to finally meet me.

Intense guilt at leaving them behind, and going into hiding scorched his body. Suddenly the tiny stove in the room felt like it was a bonfire. Waves of yellow-red guilt cut through him, nearly blinding him. His breath caught in his throat. He shut his eyes tightly trying not to think about his mother, cousins, aunts watching as he left with Walter. Why hadn’t he stayed and let someone else go in his place? Why hadn’t he looked back one last time? One last goodbye.

Unwilling Max imagined them again this time, he glanced back and saw them standing in billowing clouds of gas before they fell writhing to the ground. He saw his cousins lined up and SS standing behind, before they unleashed a hail of bullets. Over and over again different scenes with the same outcome repeating itself.

“Max? Max?”  He vaguely heard somebody say his name but it didn’t register until he felt a small hand on his shoulder. “Max?” a different voice asked this time. He opened his eyes and stared up. Liesel’s face loomed over his. Swamped with worry.

“Papa, is he okay?” Her voice was cracked. Tears, hot and wet threatened to swarm her cheeks.

Rosa’s face came into view, her brow was furrowed. Max heard her mutter, “it wasn’t the soup. I think he’s sick again.”

“Pa-Papa.?” The book thief’s voice begged again for an answer.

“Liesel, fetch a cold rag.” It wasn’t the answer the book thief wanted, but Hans was already kneeling next to Max.

Max, tried to speak, but it was all he could do to breathe. Wordlessly, Hans pulled him into a sitting position, and then seconds later helped him stand. He didn’t speak as he supported the trembling, younger man.

He didn’t mention the fear, soaking through Max’s pores, the sweat drenching him, or the violent shivering of his body. Instead he gently steered Max to a seat. Hans settled in the chair opposite and simply waited. Rosa loomed in the background, large unforgettable and unsure what to do.

Liesel returned with a wet cloth. Carefully she passed it to Max, his sweat dampened hand brushed hers. Her eyes searched his face, clearly trying to discern the answer to the question she had asked her Papa. Max saved her the trouble. _“Alles Gut”_

Liesel lingered—she recognised all was not good—but the quiet voice of Hans and the harsh order of Rosa pulled her away.

Hans stared at Max a moment, his silver eyes filled with regret. Then so quietly it was almost silent he said “Some coffee, I think.”

Rosa immediately set to work, the work of making Liesel work. “Move it _Saumensch_ , come help.”

Liesel hesitated.

 Rosa yelled. “Now.”

With one last, pale glance at Max, the book thief slowly trailed away.

Max and Hans stared at each other. Neither man spoke, then the silence became too much. Max’s breathing had slowed, he tried to salvage a little of what he felt he had lost. “I wasn’t—I’m not afraid.” He whispered. The words were soft and murky, almost unidentifiable like they weren’t real.

 Hans steepled his fingers and said quietly, “I know.”

Perhaps, Max didn’t think Hans believed him or maybe he was trying to convince himself. “I wasn’t scared, it was just...” he trailed off.

Hans again answered, just as quietly. “I know.”

He did know. Max wasn’t afraid, he was terrified.  Hans knew it. He had been in the Great War, he had seen others like Max, and he had been like that himself. It wasn’t fear, it wasn’t being scared. Those were words too mild. It was pure terror, the kind of terror that only comes from the awful anticipation of meeting me.

It was the feeling of a young soldier, barely more than a child, crouching in a fox hole. Drenched in sweat, fear and blood, with teeth chattering as he listened to the screams around him. Shells exploding overhead and pieces of bodies following soon after. It was the whispered cry for a mother, that was hundreds of miles safe, not knowing her child was about to meet me.

It was the orderly line up. As a commander marched down the row, barking orders. Riling up men, in preparation for a meeting. Climbing over the side of the trenches and running towards other men, who really disguised me.

It was waiting in front of a line of soldiers, with a line of crimson wetting your face, a wash of yellow dripping down a leg. Dirty white of rags gagging a mouth and restraining hands and eyes turned upwards towards the sky. Staring upwards so that at the moment hundreds of tiny invitations to see me hurtled towards you, the stars were all you saw.

It was a y0ung man sitting at a table, in a warm, kitchen, drenched in sweat and trying to summon the courage to die. Desperately trying to prepare himself, but failing horribly. And cursing his cowardice for not being prepared for what thousands of others, including his own family, had already faced.

Soft, yellow-gold minutes, like faded flowers, slowly passed.  Liesel and Rosa migrated back to the table. Neither breached the silence, there was nothing to say and so much to say that there wasn’t time.

An insistent rumble abruptly sliced through the quiet. “Saukerl, “ Rosa said to nobody in particular. The rumble grew louder, this time she tossed another “Saukerl” over her shoulder at the coffee percolating on the stove. “Come, Liesel.” Rosa ordered as she moved towards the stove.

Max and Hans were left alone again. Hans saw the desperation in the eyes of the young man who was seated across from him. “Do you know the Amper river?”

Max hesitated a puzzled expression crossed his face, momentarily erasing everything else. He nodded, once quickly.

Hans continued. “Meet me there in four days.”

Max simply stared, a question formed on his lips, it was one of incredulity. The question itself was so obviously not the one he wanted to ask it was laughable. “Why?”

Hans read through the lines, aware that the single word meant a lot more than it should. He heard the echo of: _Why do you think I’ll be alive in four days?_

The answer Max wanted to hear someone else say so he would at least have something to believe himself, wasn’t what Hans said. “Near the Amper, is a spot where...” a detailed outline of a place that was scattered with the memories of  Han’s earlier reading session with Liesel ,a broken bridge, twisted old trees and the smell of freedom, was what followed.

Hans’s voice was quiet and soft, soothing.  Max’s breathing had finally quieted, he was still terrified but now at least he could think. 

“Four days, versteh?”

Max, understood, in four days he would once again be meeting Hans. If—and it was a bleak possibility—he could stay alive four days.

Max, estimate was different from Hans, he was giving himself four hours. Four more short hours of his brief life. It was pitiful. It was reality.

But Max didn't want to upset. And so instead of disturbing the other occupants of the kitchen with his realization, he simply nodded.

It wasn’t as much of a lie if he didn’t speak.

Rosa slipped back to the table; she set a mug of coffee in front of him. She remained behind Max for several moments, silent and watching. I think she wanted to say something different, but that wasn’t Rosa. She was harsh and sturdy, not soft and gentle, it was her. She couldn’t help who she was.  Instead as Max’s eyes found hers she frowned and said roughly. “Don’t waste the coffee.”

Before he could answer, Rosa had already swept past him to Hans. Silently she poured him a mug of coffee. His thanks were ignored.  She turned slightly and stared at the girl trailing behind her. A quick decision was made. “The mug Saumensch.” Liesel visibly jumped, and then hesitantly she held out the indicated vessel. It grew heavy as Rosa slowly half-filled it with a thick-dirty brown stream of coffee.

Rosa set the coffee on the back of the stove and came back to the table, her own filled mug in her hand.  

There was silence and sips. Max stared at the slowly rising steam from his own mug. He tried to block the thoughts filtering in his head from the image. Only a little longer he told himself.

He only had to hold himself together a little longer and then he wouldn’t feel such mind-numbing fear, he wouldn’t feel anything ever again. But that thought scared him more.

All four sat at the table long after the last dregs of cold coffee had been drank. Once half-heartedly, Hans suggested Max get some sleep while he could, the suggestion faded away before anybody had taken real notice. They all felt the time nearing for when he would go and Max felt his time wearing away. Who wants to sleep, when they only have a few hours left?

Finally time came. They all froze as the clock chimed  the hour. Each time the sound reverberated through Max, like a death toll. As the last chime sounded, he took a deep, tremulous breath.  There was silence at the table for a full minute. This time Hans broke it, his voice cut through the thick quiet as easily as an axe through a bird’s neck. “You should get ready.”

Max numbly thought for what. What preparation was needed to walk to your own death? But he didn’t speak instead he listened as Rosa barked “The uniform Saumensch, where is it?”

Moments later the thick, rough fabric was pressed into his hands. He found himself standing and walking. He went to the cold bathroom and slowly undressed. His fingers were clumsy as he pulled on the trousers. He tried to fasten the uniform jacket but the fasteners were slippery under his fingers, and it took him several attempts to get the front of the jacket closed.  When he finally came out, he didn’t miss the small start of surprise at his appearance. He looked almost the same as he had when he had dressed in the uniform earlier. He was cleaner, his hair was neater, but the real difference was his eyes.

They were dark and murky, and filled with something that all humans can see but usually aren’t aware what they’re seeing. I’ll tell you now, you’re getting a glimpse of death. Look closely, memorise the sight, and try to avoid it as long as possible. You’ll make my job easier.

Rosa, Hans and Liesel all stared at Max, looking directly in his eyes. Liesel in particular saw it. She had already glimpsed the sight several times, first with Werner, then the Jews marching down the road, and finally the soldiers herding them. Death was in all their eyes. And children have an easier time of noticing me.

I think that’s what made them surprised at Max, because he truly looked like a Nazi now. The one thing almost all of the Führer’s finest had in common was the death contained in their gaze. They were bringers of death, steeped in it, soaked in it. Their souls were stained with me and I came for many of them just as I came for the people they were helping to eradicate.

Rosa was the first to recover from the sight.

***** HER RECOVERY*****

**A criticising observation: “The buttons aren’t fastened properly.”**

Grumbling under her breath she went to Max and skilfully unfastened all his buttons down his jacket front and before he could protest she had already began fastening them again. Her fingers moved nimbly, she avoided his gaze. He was silent throughout her ministrations, at the end as the final button was fastened he murmured “Danke.” This time Rosa accepted the comment would a nod. She fell back int0 her previous position.

Hans, Rosa, and Liesel all were opposite Max. He stood apart. The lone Jew in the middle of the room. Uncertainly he cleared his throat, he glanced at the clock. The agreed upon time for his departure had not come, he had a few minutes left. Very few.

A strange desire to see one last time the place that had been his home, his prison, and his safety filled him. There was really nothing down there of worth, but it was all he had known for a long time. “I’m going to go downstairs.” Nobody commented. Hans simply nodded.  He walked past them through the scratched wooden door and down the steps for the last time.

Once there he lit the kerosene lamp and stared at the gloomy walls. He noticed every aspect of the dim basement like it was the first time he had seen it. He stared at the drippy letters painted on the walls from Liesel’s spelling practice. He traced a finger over the edge of a drop sheet. He smelled the musty and somewhat foul air that permeated the basement. And then for the last time he went under the stairs and retrieved the only real thing he had that he could call his. It was a paint-cracked assortment of pages roughly bound together. The stiff leafs were scattered with his sketches and words. He knew he couldn’t take it with him, if anybody found it on him it would be his death.

But he knew where it could have a home—when she was ready. With a last glance that took in the small room that had been his whole world, he finally put out the lamp and walked up the steps. When he walked into the kitchen it was empty except for Rosa. She was wrapping food in parchment and storing it in his suitcase.  She turned as he walked in, neither spoke. Finally Rosa said, “There’s enough food, for a few days.”

Max thanked her with words that were mere whispers, then asked “Where’s Liesel?”

“With Hans, she’s upset.”

Max, felt guilty. It was his fault she was upset. It was his fault Hans had given away his things and Rosa was up late at night. It was his fault they all had risked their lives hiding him. He didn’t deserve their kindness. All of the risk the Hubermanns had gone through. All they had done for him, none of it he deserved.  His crime weighted on him heavily. His selfishness crushed him. “I’m sorry.” Rosa placed a last package in his suitcase and snapped it shut. She turned to face him.

“I’m sorry.” He repeated again with even more conviction. He wasn’t sure exactly what he was apologising for. Maybe ,  for all the trouble that was being made over him, maybe for putting them all at risk, maybe even to his family for leaving, but I’m sure the apology was mostly for the thing he had to be least sorry for: his existence.

Rosa didn’t speak. The suitcase hung limply in her hand. She stared at Max’s uniform, she was thinking of her own son. Hans junior. he was about the same age as the young man who stood, melting with guilt in her kitchen. He wore the same uniform Max now wore; He had the same build was almost the same height and....he would have killed Max if he had the opportunity. He would have destroyed the man, his parents had sheltered and risked their life for.  And he would have believed he was doing the right thing.

Rosa shook her head; she would never understand the contradictions. Her eyes were slightly damp. “I’m sorry.” Max whispered again.

Rosa tried to cover her lapse, “Stop apologising, Max.” She moved closer and set the suitcase near his feet. Her eyes were still dampening.  Max fidgeted, unsure what to do, finally he produced his make-shift sketchbook. He held it out with damp hands; the cover was stained with sweat. Rosa stared at it curiously.

“A pen please.” Rosa I’m sure was about to ask why, but then she went to the drawer and produced with and a jar of ink. There was something wrong about questioning a man with so very little time. She watched as Max carefully wrote a few lines on the cover of the book, she listened as he blew on the ink to dry it. Harsh, ragged breaths that were surely the best he could do.

He straightened up the flaky paint covered book in hand, and held it out to Rosa. She read the words on the cover and Max quietly said. “For Liesel, when she’s ready.”

Rosa gripped the book in her hands, the still damp ink on the cover mixed with sweat from Max fingers, a drop of salt water landed on the edge of the book. Rosa drew in a deep breath and stashed the book in a cabinet using the opportunity to draw a piece of her apron across her face. The heat of the kitchen was making her eyes water, she reassured herself.

Max glanced at the clock, it was almost time...but not quite He didn’t know what to do, there was nothing left to do but wait. Rosa filled the time—she noticed a problem.

“That _Saumensch_ I told her to clean this.” Rosa marched off to the kitchen sink and returned with a damp rag in hand she furiously scrubbed at a spot on his sleeve, when she could no longer claim that was an issue; she straightened the shoulders of his uniform jacket. She fussed as she turned to his face, “Did you wash?” Her rag attempted to scrub off a patch of skin; next she ran a hand through his hair, straightening the strands. Max stood perfectly still, only his hands trembled.  Rosa’s actions reminded him of his mother, bringing back memories he was willing himself to not think about. He was trying his best to hold it together.

“Please stop.” He finally said, he tried to keep his voice steady. It didn’t work, the fear dripped through the cracks, dark and gray, it drenched them both. Rosa ceased her ministrations, she stared at Max. He swallowed sharply, his eyes burned. He wanted to look way from Rosa but he couldn’t. “P-please” he whispered again. Abruptly Rosa hugged him. It was more like she crushed him. Awkwardly at first he returned, the gesture. Then his strength grew until he was holding her as tightly and as gently as he had his own mother.

His breath was harsh and ragged, his voice choked in his throat, he buried his head in Rosa’s hair. Her hair grew slightly damp, any sounds Max made were muffled, choked off, hidden, like him.  A small damp spot appeared near the collar of his uniform where Rosa had pressed her face. The sound of the clock chiming eleven pulled them apart.. Rosa furiously rubbed a piece of her apron across her face. She was bright red.  “You be careful, Max.”  She brushed the moisture of his cheeks, with her thumbs.  They stared at each other, something was missing. Rosa added the needed part. “Don’t get yourself killed Saukerl.”

Max, almost laughed, but at the last moment he caught himself, a faint smile ghosted his face, Before disappearing. Then he hoisted his suitcase and started off in the direction of the bedroom where Hans and Liesel were.

Hans had heard the clock chime eleven, he was leaving Liesel’s bedroom. Max caught him in the hallway. They stared at each other, eyes locked, swamp and silver. Hans finally spoke. “It’s time.”

Max nodded, he stretched out a hand towards Hans, they shook. There was silence, and then Hans grabbed the younger man and pulled him into a brief half-hug. He pulled away, his silver eyes were liquid pools of tarnished guilt, and unnecessarily he informed Max. “Liesel is in there.” He gestured behind himself. Max nodded, he set his suitcase on the floor and gently tapped on the closed door. There was no response, he hadn’t expected one.

He walked into the room, it was dark but his eyes were used to the dark. The dark was safe. He could make out a small form sitting on the edge of the bed.  “Liesel.”

He whispered her name, she didn’t move. Hesitantly he moved closer, he sat on the edge of the bed, next to her. Neither spoke, Finally Liesel said. “You’re leaving now.” Her voice was cracked pieces of glass, sharp, and broken.

“Yes,”

Max could sense Liesel turn to look at him. He didn’t know what to say; finally he fell back on his second most used phrase. “Thank you.” He felt the two words were somehow inadequate for his gratitude so he tried again. “Thank you, for the newspapers, the weather, the words...” He trailed off; Liesel stared at him in the darkness. Her eyes were were accusatory.

He felt icy guilt drench him again; He wanted to turn away from Liesel’s gaze. Her eyes stared at him with the same intensity as several other pairs had a few years ago, they held a simple knowledge: He was leaving. His first departure once again suffused his head, his mother, cousins, aunts, accusations seeping from their eyes.

“Max, please.” Liesel whispered. She felt another loss on the horizon; she was doing anything to hold it back.  First her father, next her mother and her brother Werner and finally Max. She had many more losses coming than those  and I was grateful she didn’t know.

***** A TRUTH*****

**Be glad  you don’t know the future.**

**When you do you’re never able to truly live.**

**The knowledge of what happens next destroys.**

Liesel wrapped bony arms around his chest, clinging to him. She knew that wouldn’t keep him from leaving but she was doing anything to stave off the inevitable moment of departure a little longer.

Max, swallowed, he steeled himself. Time was running out, he thought he had an appointment to keep. He briefly allowed his arms to encircle the girl, and then pushed her back. He stood up.

Liesel stared at his looming figure. He bent down and abruptly kissed her forehead. Max straightened up and whispered. “I have left something for you.” He swallowed again, a dry rough action. “But you will not get it until you’re ready.”

Then he walked out the bedroom, he didn’t turn around. He heard Liesel’s voice “Max?” the words stained the air a bloody red. He forced himself to continue walking. No last glance back, he had to leave.

He grabbed his suitcase and walked into the kitchen. Hans and Rosa were lingering near the door.  He nodded at them, one last time, as pitiful as the words were compared to all they had done for him he muttered. “Thank you.” Then he opened the door and stepped outside. The shock of the air hit him; he smelled fresh air for the first time in nearly two years. His feet walked down stairs worn by many more footsteps than when he has came.

He took another breath as he started . He resisted the urge to look back. It would only hamper his resolve.

*****THE RESOLVE*****

**He was going to die. He wanted to be ready.**

He continued down the street, his regret pushed through, his steps slowed. And finally at Frau Diller’s he paused. He turned back to see number 33, it was invisible. A lost refuge drowned in an inky black night. Max continued onward. He breathed and walked. The air was gagging him; each step was like walking through lead.  He wished he was back hidden away, asleep under his steps.

But he moved forward. Just a few more steps he urged himself. It shouldn’t be so hard; the path was already laid out. It was a well-trodden one, worn down by millions of footsteps.

 He was just one more Jew walking towards his death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, let me know how you like it so far.
> 
> Alles Gut: All is good


	3. Chapter 3

Max focused on walking. It was better than thinking, at least he didn’t have to figure out what to do next or imagine the horrible scenarios that followed.  Just one foot and then another, so simple and so hard.

Hans had arranged for them to meet at the Amper River in four days. He had also told him of a place he would leave what he planned to bring if he for some reason couldn’t meet Max.

Max walked toward the river now, he had no reason to be there in four days, he was quite sure his short life would be over by then. And even if it wasn’t he couldn’t bring himself to accept the forged papers and pfennig Hans planned to give him. He wasn’t going to put the three people who had been responsible for his survival for almost two years at any more risk.

At the river, Max stared down into the cold clear water. He imagined sitting on the bank in the sunlight, perhaps fishing, maybe just living. But it was not to be, vermin didn’t sit out for all to see. Vermin hid itself away, darting in and out of the shadows, hiding away. That was what he was, the Nazi’s were right, he wasn’t a human, and he wasn’t worth anything. Or he wouldn’t have been so selfish. He wouldn’t have been alive.

The sound of a late night motorist passing on a nearby street drew him out of his thoughts. He had to hurry; he had to get away before he was caught. Whatever happened he didn’t want any connexion to the Hubermann’s. A quick fumbling in his suitcase awarded him with a scrap of paper, after anther search he found something to write with. His hand paused above the paper. He was unsure what to say. There was so much to say: thanks, apologies, questions, explanations. Finally he went with the simplest thing. _You’ve done enough._

Carefully he folded the note into fourths and wrapped it in a piece of oilskin he had rem0ved from one of Rosa’s parcels of food. He placed the note under a rock and straightened up wiping dirt off his palms.

He took a last glance at the calm water of the river and then climbed the bank. He walked away from the quiet calmness of the river and toward the eerie silence of Munich Street.  He knew his destination and how long it would take to get there. That was one 0f the things Hans had told me. He needed to make it to the Molching train station and get a ticket to Munich. In Munich he had the address to a woman Hans had said should be able to find him a hiding place.

The woman was Ilse Reich; he had her address, and a brief description. The same man Hans had gotten the forged papers from had mentioned her. Max had a plan, but he couldn’t help feeling it wasn’t going to work.

He felt horribly exposed walking down Munich Street. It was empty due to the time of the night, even light that might have came from the houses was obscured by blackout curtains. The dim moonlight provided the only real light.

The street was dusty and hard, under his boots. He focused on walking and tried not to think about what laid ahead. The thought of the train station , buying the ticket and waiting as the man checked his papers, or sitting on the train trying not to react as he sat in the harsh light for everybody to see only disguised by a set of clothes that if he was found in were sure to be his death. Don’t think, keep walking, was his advice to himself. He took deep steadying breaths. His uniform felt like a lead suit on his body. Halfway down, Munich Street, he noticed a dark patch. The sidewalk was stained; it was a darkish red-brown. Just another stain, he tried to convince himself. But he saw the scrap of fabric lying next to the stain and he noticed the vague outline of a human-handprint at the edge of the mark. He dragged himself away from the sight; he was already making excuses to himself to explain the stain.

Perhaps, a paint spill which somebody had slipped and stuck there hand in. Or maybe.... Max felt the thought trickle away as the truth flooded in unbidden. He knew what he was seeing. Hans had told him the Jews had been marched down Munich Street. He had explained how they had looked, half-starved and barely alive. Max knew how Hans had given the older man a crust of bread and saved him from meeting his death on a hard ground at the hands of trampling feet and a cold-bullet. But he also knew somebody else hadn’t been as lucky. He also knew it could have been him. A few different circumstances and it would be him. It should be him...

Max quickened his step. His fingers were slick with sweat. He adjusted the suitcase, switching it to another hand. He sucked in a few more breaths, forcing himself to try to calm. Molching’s train station was nearing.  Max was grateful to find the train platform vacant except for an older man wrapped in a coat slumped in a seat fast asleep.

Minutes, passed. Max slowly counted the seconds in his head.  He only had a few minutes to go before the train arrived. He could do this. There was nothing to it. He set to convincing himself. He felt dizzy and his stomach was churning again.  His hands were trembling and his legs were shaking.  He forced himself to breathe deeply and his hands to still. He wiped his sweaty palms on his trousers and a quick swipe with his sleeve dispatched the moisture coating his face.  Carefully he whispered the words he was going to say as he imagined the questions they would ask him before he was allowed to board the train. 

 _What was his name?_ Johannes Eyck.

 _Where was he going and why?_ Munich, to visit family while he was on leave.

 The answers to the questions were easy, Max told himself. The lies were believable. He imagined the man asking him for ID and Max momentarily had an awful though as he considered irrationally that maybe he had lost it somehow. A second of panic followed, erasing all he had done to calm himself. He searched fearfully through his pockets. Almost immediately his fingers closed on the wad of papers that were his forged documents. The feel of the paper wasn’t enough to convince him though. He had to be sure they were still there. 

He fumbled with clumsy fingers trying to unfold the documents. Finally he succeeded. He first examined his identity card. It had the same picture from over four years ago, the last on that had been taken before he went in hiding. Next he examined his fake military Id and pass for leave. He read through the other documents, noting the official seals and forged signatures. It would work. “It’ll work.” He whispered to himself. He continued murmuring the words under his breath as he stowed his papers back in his pocket. No sooner had he completed the task, a train whistle sounded.

His heart thrashed against his ribs at the sound. The older man resting at the other end of the bench stirred and straightened up. Max watched as the train emerged from the shadows and slowly pulled into the station.

 The door opened and a man appeared ushering passengers off. Max straightened up, he grabbed his suitcase holding it so firmly his knuckles were white. Passengers walked past him. Several nodded at him. He stared at them, until he realised it was the uniform. Then, somehow he managed to incline his head to the next few. A man said “Heil Hitler” and raised his hand in salute.  He waited expectantly. When Max didn’t speak, the man repeated the words. Max managed to choke out an answer and raised his arm in a passable approximation of the Nazi greeting.  Satisfied the man walked away.

Max felt worse than ever.  The uniform he wore felt like it was dragging him down. He knew it was the best way for him to avoid suspicion, but he would have rather worn ordinary clothes. At least then he wouldn’t feel like he was a part of what he was trying to hide from. The contradictions in what he was forced to do were making him sick.

The last passenger departed the train and the older man in the station boarded. Max followed him.  He found an empty seat and sat. The train car was only partly full, most passengers were quiet, either sleeping or reading as they waited for the train to start up.

To take his mind off his fear, max examined the other passenger around him. There was a woman directly ahead. She had a baby in her arms, swaddled tightly in blanket. Next to her a little boy was sleeping on her arm. Behind him a portly older gentleman was reading a newspaper. Across the aisle a couple was asleep, leaning against each other.

“Is this seat available?” Max started, and quickly glanced around. Standing over him was a young woman. She was about his age and dressed in a rather fashionable dark blue dress with an ostentatious hat.

Max managed to speak. “Ja.”

Without preamble the woman stashed a small valise at her feet and smoothed out her skirt before sitting down. “So where are you headed to?”

Max didn’t realise she was talking to him, until she repeated the question.  He managed to speak. “To Munich.” The rest of the lie spilled from his mouth automatically. “To visit my family there.”

The woman nodded, sympathetically. “You haven’t seen them in a while.”

Max stared at her. He hadn’t seen his family in over four years. For all he knew they were all dead and he was the last one left. The thought, bored through him. He wanted to tell her the truth; he wanted her to tell him what a coward he was when she knew the truth. But he wanted to live more. “Ja.” He found himself saying instead.

“How long has it been?”

“Four years.”

“Where were you stationed?”

The question caught Max off guard. It was one of the one’s he hadn’t expected to be asked. Something he had overheard Rosa saying of where her son was stationed came to his mind.

The woman nodded again. “Ah, Russia. We’re losing a lot of our men over there.”

Max swallowed and turned to stare out the window. He didn’t want to talk, wished the woman would leave him alone. But almost as soon as he had turned she said. “My name is Clara, Clara Berg. “

Max considered not answering with what he knew she wanted to hear. But he was afraid of attracting attention if he didn’t. He turned back and murmured. “Johannes Eyck.” Carefully, he shook the gloved hand she extended.

“Nice to meet you.”  Before Max could formulate a reply she began speaking. “You’re going to be surprised how much Munich has changed since you saw it last. They closed up a lot of the businesses.” The woman leaned close to him, so that he was able to smell her perfume and said conspiratorially. “And I’m not going to deny it but I do miss a few, especially some of the dress shops.” She giggled and added. “But it’s almost _Judenfrei_ now; they’ve carted all of them off.”

Max gasped, as he realised what the woman was talking about.

She mistook his horror at what he was hearing, for shock at the news and elaborated. “You haven’t heard a lot over there fighting probably, but back home they’ve been clearing out. When our men come back after the war is over the city will be totally clear. Probably all of Germany will.”

Max didn’t speak and simply nodded.  The girl didn’t find his lack of response off-putting and continued speaking. “I wish that they had left a few Jews though, just the women. I knew a girl I used to buy dresses from, she made the prettiest ones.”  The woman tugged regretfully at the dress she was wearing now and said. “This thing here would be _dreck_ compared to what she could make.  Still maybe after the war, they’ll allow some of the Jews back as servants and such, that’s all they’re really good for anyway, don’t you think?”

“Ja.” Max answered, his voice was only a fraction above a whisper.

“I went to the work camps, once with my father. And he told me that out of all the Jews they have their only a small percentage are capable of work. The others either refuse or are too weak—and some people ask why they have to be separated from the rest of society. I mean the answer is obvious isn’t it?”

The man sitting behind Max joined the conversation. “I had three Jews working in my shop before the war. I use to catch the lazy _saukerls_ napping on the job, even caught one stealing money. The sooner their all gone the better.” The man leaned forward and said to Max. “And the sooner you’ll be able to come home for good son.”

The woman ahead of Max turned around and spoke. “My two brothers were killed months ago, my mother and father died in an air raid and my husband is still fighting on the western front.” She paused and wiped her eyes and continued viciously. “I hope all the Jews go to hell for all the trouble they’ve caused.”

Max was aware all of the people watching him, waiting for a response. He didn’t know what to say and yet he did. The words had been ground into his soul, the propaganda of _Mein Kampf_ , the cold words of neighbours, his years of hiding , the thought of the camps, had all given made aware of what was thought. “ _Der Juden_ are vermin.”

Everybody nodded in agreement, Max felt bile coat the inside of his mouth as he thought of what he had said. He forced the guilt back, the words had meant life. That was all he wanted, just a few precious minutes more. No matter how much he tried to convince himself, the guilt still tore at him. He was brought back by another voice; this once was firm and insistent.  

“Your papers?”

Max glanced upwards, into the train conductor’s face. The man was holding his hand out. Sweaty papers were pulled from Max pocket and placed in his grip. “Ticket?” The man asked. Max handed over the stub of paper also.

Sweat dripped down Max's neck as he stared at the man examining his papers. He watched the eyes darting back and forth between the words. His breath was stuck in his throat. Max was waiting for the moment of discovery. He was waiting for all eyes to turn towards him, the impostor. He was waiting for the hatred he deserved it. He hated himself.  His mother, cousins, aunts were all dead and he wasn’t. The guilt at living was almost greater than his fear of dying.

The conductor finally raised his eyes and glanced at Max. “Come with me.” Max straightened on trembling legs, he grabbed his suitcase.  He stepped out past the woman who was watching him curiously; the train compartment was all quiet. He was sure the man knew, wasn’t it obvious he was a Jew. Didn’t his sweaty pale face, haunted eyes, and trembling body betray him? 

“This is your first time out in a while?”  The man’s voice wasn’t accusing, if anything it was somewhat kind. But all Max heard was the accusation, the man knew he had been hiding. Max knew there was no point denying it. 

“Ja,” He whispered.

The man nodded. “You look like it, having some trouble adjusting to this all?”

Max didn’t speak; he was waiting for the man to change. He was waiting for the accusation; he knew he was found out. He just wished somebody would end the anticipation.

“You probably left a lot of people behind, huh? I—“

Max couldn’t take the waiting.  Words spilled out his mouth, he was begging for absolution. If he was going to die, he wanted somebody, anybody , even if it was a train car of people who hated him to know how much he regretted all he had done. He regretted walking out during _Kristallnatch_ with Walter, he wished he had stayed with his family...at least then he wouldn’t have died alone...at least then he wouldn’t have felt such guilt.

The entire train car was staring at him and he gasped the words in a choked voice. “I’m sorry, so sorry. I left them, all of them. They were standing there watching and now there all dead.  But they told me to leave, and I wanted to live. And now I’m the only one alive.” Max felt the entire everybody’s eyes on him. He just wanted it to stop; he knew he was going to die. He had known it ever since Hans told him he had to leave. He was a Jew in the middle of Germany. He was dead as soon as he had set foot out the Hubermanns house.   He didn’t want to die, but the fear was killing him. He didn’t want to be taken by the Gestapo. He didn’t want questions asked; he didn’t want the Hubermanns found out.

And yet if they questioned him, he wasn’t sure he could keep from telling. “Please, just do it. I admit, just do it.”

There was silence. Then the conductor asked “Do what?”

The words were heavy on his lips but he forced himself to speak. “Kill me. I deserve it I’m a coward, I’m vermin. Out of all the people that died, my friends, my family, all the people who are dead instead of me  why do I deserve to live?—“  Sweat was pouring off his face, his head was spinning , his body was shaking violently, and his stomach ached. He whispered the last words. “Please, just do it.”

There was silence in the train. All eyes were fastened on the man in the German uniform standing in the middle of the aisle. The conductor broke the silence; he placed a thick hand on Max’s shoulder. The Jewish man flinched and then went unnaturally still. Gently the conductor pushed him down into an empty seat, and then withdrew his hand. “Calm down son, I don’t know what you saw over there. But you shouldn’t feel guilty for being alive.” Max shoulders were hitching as he gasped trying to catch his breath and simultaneously figure out why he wasn’t dead yet.

 The conductor spoke, his voice was steady and soothing. “I remember my own boy came back, kept saying he had to go back and talking about all the people who had died. Had half his leg blown off and his arm gone and he had to go back. “ The conductor paused and swallowed harshly before adding in a choked voice. “...He took a shotgun one day when I was out; I came back and found him.” The conductor was silent before saying softly. “I’m sorry of startling you son, I was just going to say we had some empty seats in a nicer car and upgrade you. “ 

Max could only stare; he didn’t know what to say. He clamped his mouth shut holding back the acid that was filling it. He couldn’t stop shaking. Now he realised he wasn’t caught, and the man had mistaken his confession for the outburst of a shell-shocked soldier. But the knowledge of the almost discovery was even more terrifying.  The conductor shook his head and sighed. “Damn this war, damn the Jews, may all of them go to hell.” He placed what was supposed to be a comforting hand on the young man’s shoulder.

To Max the man’s hand was like an anvil, the hatred was crushing. Max stiffened at the touch, his stomach clenched.  He leaned into the aisle and threw up.  He started to stand, even as he heaved again.  He couldn’t take being around any of them. He couldn’t stand to pretend any longer. If anybody asked him, at that moment he would have confessed. He snatched his suitcase off the floor. And tried to move past the conductor, the man tried to stop him, but Max pushed past. “I h-have to get off.”

He stumbled out the train, with his suitcase dragging behind. The people’s eyes were following him, Max was sure at any moment somebody would realise the truth, but nobody tried to stop him. The conductor took a step forward down after him, but a shrill whistle stopped him. With one last regretful look at the young man who stood gasping in the German uniform on the train platform, the conductor slowly slid the train door closed.

Max watched as the train picked up speed. He watched until it had faded into the distance and still he stared at it. The sweat dampening his uniform was cooling and with it came the realisation that he had ruined his best chance of getting to Munich unhindered. He only had to have endured the stares and comments of the other passengers for a few hours at most, but he had let it get to him. He had let his fear take over. Max cursed his cowardice. It was simply another manifestation of his weakness, another reminder of why he had chosen to save his own skin and everybody else that he cared for had died instead. 

He shivered and closed his eyes momentarily, trying to still his thrashing heart and ragged breaths to a semblance of normalcy. It took several minutes before he could make his body obey his will. As he tried to calm down, he thought, first of returning to the Hubermanns and begging to stay, next of finding an officer and voluntarily turning himself in and finally of continuing onward even though he had no idea how he would get to Munich now.

 The first option he disregarded, immediately and silently cursed himself for his selfishness of even considering it. The Hubermanns would let him come back, of that he was sure. They would be willing to offer him a place to stay, but he couldn’t bear the thought of the Gestapo marching into the house and finishing him, hiding like a rat in a hole. He couldn’t bear to think of Rosa and Hans awoken in their beds and dragged off for harbouring a Jew, or Liesel sent away from the only family she had left because he couldn’t accept his fate.

The second option was tempting; a small part of him wanted it to be over. The fear of waiting to be found out was more he was sure than the fear of what they would do when they had him. He knew what would happen if he turned himself in, either he would be taken to a camp and worked until he died or killed immediately for impersonating a German soldier. Either way the outcome was death.

The third option was the least appealing. Continuing onward would mean hours more of waiting to be found, panicked moments as his papers were checked, and finally at the end hours, months, probably many more years of hiding and praying not to be found. And did he really want to live the rest of his life like that? The war was showing no signs of ending. It had started years ago and he had spent most of his young life either hiding or being scorned. All he had was more and more years until, his luck, if you could call it that, finally ran out. All he had to look forward was more time trying to avoid death.

Max opened his eyes and began walking. The answer to his question had already presented itself. He didn’t want to live the rest of his life, like that, but it was what he deserved. It was his punishment for living. It was his punishment for his cowardice. He left the train station and ventured into the outskirts of Molching. Munich was miles away and the journey would be even farther if he took the back roads, but trying to catch another train or walking through the streets of Molching waiting to be stopped was a more daunting prospect.

Whitish-blue flakes of snow began falling, they swirled through the air, just enough to provide the hint of something more but not enough to obscure. The flakes fell in his hair and landed on the base of his neck, they were cool against his hot sweaty skin. As he walked his footsteps were easily discernible in the snow, but they quickly filled in as he passed, leaving no trace of where he had walked. He was like a wraith, in the night.

He reached the edge of Molching and remembered a road that led out of town for the first half-mile it twisted out the town and then it straightened to run almost parallel to the train tracks. The road was hidden in trees and several hundred feet from the tracks but if he followed the path he wouldn’t be lost. Only on foot, in the dead of the night while it was snowing he had little chance of making it to Munich before sunlight. Perhaps, a few years ago he could have done it. In fact he was sure that he could have traversed the distance easily then, but years of hiding had weakened his body, and though he was ashamed to admit it to even himself, he was tiring just from walking the short distance he had.

He shifted his suitcase in his hand and started down the road. It was deserted and already covered with a layer of undisturbed snow.  Max kept to the shadows of the road hidden in the overhang of the trees. It was dark outside; he could barely see inches in front of his face. The moon was failing to cast its sickly rays of light coast the dense tree cover. But Max welcomed the darkness and he feared it.

The dark was safety and another opportunity to avoid detection and yet, he worried that he would find himself walking into a group of people without knowing it.  He knew how strange it would look a man in a German Soldier’s uniform walking through the forest in the middle of the night. He thought about at least living hi suitcase behind so it would look less odd, but he was reluctant to give up the few things he had even if they were essentially worthless to most people.

As time passed and all he met in the darkness was silence, unbroken except for the occasional chatter of animals, Max relaxed slightly. He fell into a monotonous pace, of walking and thinking. He wasn’t thinking about the present or his uncertain future. He thought about the past, but only after he had came to the Hubermanns. He didn’t want to remember the years prior when he had spent almost two years crouched in a dirty room waiting to be discovered in the dark alone not even able to speak for fear of being found. He didn’t think about the time before that when he had been fired from his job for his religion and scorned and spat on as he waited to be carted off to the camps he had been hearing about. And most of all he didn’t think about the last moment he had with his family, the lingering stares and the final cold goodbye, where he hadn’t even looked back.

He filled his mind instead with crossword puzzles done by the light of a kerosene lamp, weather reports that were as childish as they were beautiful, warm nights by the fire as he slept on the floor and listened in quiet wakefulness to the others breathes.  He talked quietly in response to remembered conversations with Liesel, he imagined telling her what had happened to him so far.

He imagined how he would explain the note he had left Hans and the dark stain on the street. _It was like a rusted pool of life._  The train would be the next thing she would want to know. Max saw her eyes fastened on him and heard her ask. _“Were you scared Max?”_

He would pause and grip his hands tightly wiping the lingering sweat off his palms as he stared at the ground and then finally to her and only to her he would admit it in an ashamed whisper. _“Yes, I was.”_

Liesel wouldn’t speak then; she would know what to say without words though. Perhaps an extra newspaper that day, or one of her books to borrow, or even a scrap of stolen fruit that he was sure even her Mama and Papa didn’t know about—Apples were his favourite. And then he would know that at least one person didn’t despise him for his cowardice at not wanting to die, but being so hypocritical that he was putting others at risk and he had allowed his entire family to go in his place.

The cold grew or maybe it seemed so to Max. He had never been able to handle drafts much after his last illness. No matter how much food Rosa had forced on him or how much blankets she had heaped on him when she thought he was asleep. He had never gained all his weight back and he was often always cold.

The snow was falling thicker now and Max had been walking for the better part of two hours. His legs were tired and he wanted nothing more than a few seconds of rest. He sank down at the base of a tree in the cold snow and laid his suitcase next to himself. He stared into the darkness watching flakes swirl pass, and his eyes threatened to close. _Only a few moments, he promised himself, then he would continue onward._

Max closed his eyes and fell asleep. He was back with his family.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is back in progress... I told you guys I don't forget my fics and I don't :) I've just been quite busy and then got distracted by Star Trek and SPN *sigh* Fandom happens. I'll try to do a chap every week or two.

**A Bittersweet Journey**

***** A FACT ON DREAMS*****

**They reflect feeling, deep or shallow**

**Happiness, sadness, they’re all manifested eventually.**

**But guilt is the worst, it brings on nightmares that make even death seem tame.**

**It’s the knowledge of what could have been done that is horrifying.**

**I once read a poem. It was very appropriate.**

**Humans are definitely afraid of the road not taken.**

**The lost opportunity is what scares them most...**

_“What is happening?”_

_Somebody asked in the darkness. “Nothing “ he heard a soft voice say. It was edged in fear. There was quiet for several minutes, all they could hear in the gloom of the apartment was breaking glass, screams , shouts, harsh orders in German._

_Somewhere nearby one of his younger cousins whimpered. He heard quiet shushing, it was his mother’s voice and then a gentle and soft hums slowly started to his right. He twisted his head to the side recognising the melody as one his mother used to sing to him when he was younger. Slowly her voice filled the cramped darkness soothing them all and drowning out the sounds of chaos._

_The comforting melody was broken and reality pushed forward as a shot rang out. They waited in silence, nobody breathed. Then a loud voice yelled “Aufmachen”. All were hoping the command was not directed at them. There hope was erased as a knock followed the yell and then the order came again. “Aufmachen”_

_Slowly they all straightened, they didn’t dare turn on the light. It wasn’t like the darkness could hide them any longer, but they all wished by unspoken agreement to keep up the illusion of safety for a few moments longer._

_His cousin Isaac opened the door and then quickly drew back to the group, a man stood there in a Nazi uniform. All of the people standing before him collectively held their breath.  Then another command came and it wasn’t what they expected. It was harsh and whispered, the voice that spoke was tinged with fear almost as keen as that of those Jews who watched. “Hurry, they are looting outside and detaining people. I have a hiding place and in the chaos we can reach it safely.” Max, finally recognised the man as Walter Kugler his childhood friend._

_Voices gasped, there was relief, somewhere nearby one of Max’s cousins started to cry. His mother spoke “Can we grab our things first?”_

_Walter spoke again, he was apologetic but firm. “I have room only for one.”_

_Silence reigned again. It lasted for several seconds, Walter glanced around nervously and then back at the shocked people in front of him. “One only versteh? I’m sorry.”_

_There wasn’t much time they all knew. Whispered discussion followed of who the one person would be. First Sarah his cousin, but she wouldn’t leave her husband and she was pregnant. Then his younger cousins the twins, but they wouldn’t leave each other. His littlest cousin, but she couldn’t keep quiet. His mother, she was too old she would rather stay behind for whatever fate was in store. Each of his family was discussed and discarded. Until finally someone said “Max?”_

_It was a tentative suggestion ad then finally echoed by almost everyone. He felt hands pushing him forward... They had already decided. Out of all of them he , the twenty-two year old , was old enough to be quiet, he didn’t have a wife to be separated from, he didn’t have siblings to leave. He was their choice...But they didn’t give him a choice._

_He tried to stop them, even though a large part of him wanted to go. He didn’t want to wait to die, he wanted to resist even if resistance meant hiding. He spoke. “Never.” He felt he had to say it. He didn’t want to agree. He didn’t want to want to live at the expense of everyone else. He grabbed his mother’s hand and his cousin Sarah’s. There palms mingled with sweat in his grip, “I won’t leave. If we all can’t go I don’t go either.”_

_The words were hollow sounding and they did nothing to deter his family. His mother pulled her hand from his first. She put her hand on his shoulder and gave it a squeeze and then gently shoved him forward. Then his cousin Sarah tugged her hand from his grip also, she kissed him on the cheek and whispered. “Go Max.”_

_He was pushed forward, gently but it felt like he was shoved. “Max…Max..” he heard his name repeated he felt his mother lean up and kiss his cheek. He felt his cousins hug him, and his family was quick with their gestures. Brush of lips on his cheeks, clasped hands, quick arms around his shoulder and then his jacket was forced on him. He was pushed a little farther away. He turned around to stare as his mother reached into a drawer and shoved a piece of paper in his pocket, he heard her say something but it didn’t register._

_“I’m sorry we have to go.” Walter added._

_Max was pushed still further away; they were distancing themselves from him. It felt like a separation of the living from the dead. He wanted to stay, he didn’t want to die alone. He didn’t want to never see them again, but above all he wanted to live. The thought sickened him and drove him to take a step forward away. He didn’t look back; he would have wanted to stay then. He would have told Walter to go without him. He would have died with his family, but he wanted to live._

_He walked onward, but he felt there cold fingers grasping at his arms, he imagined their sightless eyes staring at his back. He heard over and over again the screaming as he walked out into the night of chaos, and yells, breaking glass, destruction. He followed Walter down a long street in Stuggart and a part of him died._

Max awoke with a start, a silent scream was caught in his throat... he had learned to be silent even in his nightmares. The thumping sound of things being destroyed was still echoing in his mind. He stumbled upward; his legs were numb with inactivity and cold. His fingers could barely grasp his suitcase. If he had stayed there much longer he knew he wouldn’t have woken up.  He staggered out onto the road.  The remnants of his dream were still plaguing his mind, perhaps that was why he didn’t notice as the quiet thumping sound drew nearer.

He finally realised what it was when he heard a soft whiny. He heard somebody whisper “hush, Suri.” He turned back and squinted in the darkness , he was just able to make out a wagon in the gloom. The sight of somebody else froze him in his tracks. It was more prudent to at least try to hide, but his muscles wouldn’t move. Slowly the wagon came closer as , the horses pulling it walked reluctantly like there master was intentionally slowing them.

Max waited as it neared. Finally the horses stopped in front of him, their breath made billowing clouds in the slowly falling snow. A man and a woman stared down at him from the wagon. They all looked at each other minutes passed. Finally Max, couldn’t bear the wait. The most simplest  phrase that applied to both him and them coincidentally was the question that both he and the man asked at the same time. “Excuse me, but what are you doing on this road now?”

Max, opened his mouth to answer. But the man beat him to it. “I’m sorry sir, I was travelling with my family and we got caught in this storm.

It was a thin lie, but Max was only worried about the  believability  of his own.  The man was too worried about being caught himself to wonder why a Nazi soldier was walking through the wood in the dead of the night. He quickly followed his first lie with another. “We were going to visit family in Munich and drop off some goods and the weather beat us there.”

“M-munich? You’re going there?”

The man hesitated and nodded. Sweat was beading on his lip, his wife  was silently repeating a prayer in her mind. They were terrified of being caught. Max stared at them he was waiting for them to question him. He was terrified of being caught. The irony of the situation was lost on both of them. But not on me.

*****THE IRONY*****

**Each was hiding a secret that could potentially be deadly.**

**Both secrets were typically harmless**

**If the world hadn’t been determined to make it otherwise.**

The man spoke against his fingers were trembling but he forced himself to still them  as  he called out “The papers.”

Max froze and then his hand went to his pocket, he withdrew his documents and held them out as he did he saw the man’s wife pass a sheaf of documents to her husband and he in turn tried to pass them to Max. Their hands met in mid air, each holding a thick wad of documents in an attempt to prove their lies. The man’s wife’s eyes  widened and both the woman and her husband appeared perplexed. I’m sure they were wondering why a Nazi Soldier was trying to pass his identity papers to them.

Nobody moved for seconds then awkwardly they exchanged packets. The man barely spared a glance at Max’s paper then glance upward and spoke in a worried voice. “I never doubted your credentials.”

Max, was staring blankly at the papers in his hand. He noticed the man’s name was Leopold and his wife’s was Hilde. He passed the papers back. As the man, Leopold exchanged documents with him, he noticed the man’s hand was shaking and he realised something. They were as scared of him as he was of them. He figured it was the uniform, and as much as it sickened him to do so he used his advantage.

His voice wasn’t strong but he made it forceful. You say you are going to Munich, I am going that way myself...I would like a ride.”

 He didn’t want to put the man and his wife at risk and he knew that if he was discovered with them as a Jew impersonating a Nazi the punishment would fall on them as well, but he was desperate. It was freezing and there was no way he could walk all that way himself. They didn’t speak and he was about to ask again when a tiny wail rent the air.

 It startled them both.

Leopold glanced at his wife and Max watched as she uncovered a basket balanced on the seat next to her and lifted a swaddled baby in the air. The woman, Hilde glanced fearfully at him before, tucking the baby to her breast and covering it with her shawl. Max felt even more ashamed of what he had asked. He was trying to figure out a way to renege on his request when the man spoke. “Of course, of course, if you don’t mind little Rudolf here making a fuss now and then.” The man tried to be merry but the strain was evident in his voice.

Max, shook his head and forced himself not to think as he placed his suitcase in the back of their wagon. Leopold had hoped down and was beside him. The man was making a show of moving things around. Max was startled for another time tonight as a bundle in the far back of the wagon stirred and a small boy pocked her head up , and rubbed sleep from her eyes. “What is going on papa?”

“Nothing, Anton, back to sleep.”

The boy noticed Max, but laid down and stared at him instead of speaking  again.

“That’s my son.” Leopold muttered quietly avoiding Max eyes. He shoved a few more bundles out the way and then turned around. “There’s some room for you now, but it’s still rather crammed with produce and some of my wife cloth goods.”

“It’s fine.”

Max clambered into the wagon and gratefully accepted the quilt Hilde passed him. Within seconds the horses started back up. Max leaned against the wagon sides, and stared ahead at the goods packed in crates and baskets and covered by half-covered by tarps.  Potatoes, turnips, bolts of woven fabric, wheels of hard cheese, and numerous other farm goods were laid out. The earthy smell of dirt , mould, and other familiar odours that he remembered from years ago at produce markets tainted the air. But there was another indefinable smell, two actually they were just hints but familiar, Max sniffed trying to figure out what it was.

A small voice interrupted him. “You’re a soldier?”

Max looked down at the little boy Anton who had spoken, the child was no more than five, and have a finger stuck in the corner of his mouth upon which he was furiously sucking as he watched Max.

“What? Uh, yes—yes “

Anton spoke again. “You killed the bad people?”

Before Max could speak, Leopold interjected. “Quiet Anton and go to sleep.”

The little boy subsided. Leopold added apologetically to Max, “I’m sorry he’s very inquisitive.”

Max nodded, putting the man at ease and the ride continued. The slow trot of the horses settled into a comfortable rhythm making Max feel sleepy. He struggled to keep his eyes open and before he knew it had closed them a laid down on the wagon boards. The smell he had smelled earlier was stronger now, he drifted half-asleep and half-awake. His nightmares came again, they were just as silent. All he did was gasp for air  and his fingers tightened against the floor board unconsciously pulling at one of the cracks. He gave a cry of surprise as the wooden board came away in his hands.

The smells grew stronger , the first one was identifiable, it was coffee but the second he hadn’t smelled in years, almost since before the war had started. His fingers groped down in the hollow area and he pulled up a small foil wrapped square and stared at it in wonder. A word soft and airy with almost childlike disbelief floated upward. It was effervescent and like a creamy white cloud. “Chocolate.”

Leopold simultaneously stopped the horse and turned around.  Hilde had already twisted in her seat. Even the little boy, Anton was staring at Max.

They all waited for his reaction. But Max was still examining the gold-covered wrappers. His fingers traced the embossed letters, he glanced upward at them and there was a hint of laughter in his voice. “That’s what you’re hiding. Chocolate.”

All the colour drained from Leopold and his wife’s face. Max stared at them and then back at the chocolate and a strange desire to laugh came over him. They were hiding a confection and he was hiding himself. Both were punishable if caught by the camps or even death. Both were contraband.  A laugh grew in his chest and he found himself consumed by it. He laughed until his chest hurt, but it was a quiet muffled noise, a person only a few feet away would have only heard a choked sound. Max stopped when he couldn’t catch his breath, he was aware they were all staring at him.

Max knew they were waiting for him to threaten them  or detain them, but seconds grew and there was nothing but silence.

Leopold tried to make an explanation. The lies was thick on his lips and he stammered. “ I can explain officer. We were making a shipment to the troops dispensary in Munich, these were brought over by my fr-friend in....”  The man paused and continued onward his voice dropped lower. It was saturated in the hint of a bribe. “You say you are visiting your family, whatever you like you can have of it and if you wish to tax these goods any rate would be fair. Anything you wish”

Max wasn’t listening to the man’s excuses but he caught the last bit of the mans’ words. He stared at the chocolate still clasped in his hand and then at the man and asked. “Anything?”

Leopold hesitated but then he nodded.

Max mouth was watering. He stared at the candy in his hand. Then he murmured in a surprised voice. “I haven’t had this in years.” He turned his eyes up to them and his next request was so innocent and unexpected. “Can I have a piece?”

Leopold and Hilde blinked, then hastily the woman produced a knife. He husband was already agreeing. “Yes, of course.”

Hilde hadn’t him a sharp paring knife and carefully Max broke off a square of chocolate and placed it in his mouth. The taste was rich and slightly bitter sweet. Max noticed the boy watching him and carefully he cracked off another piece and passed it to the child. Anton  glanced at his father, who nodded, before he accepted the candy with a shy “Danke.”

Max glanced at the man and the woman who were still watching him and he felt guilty at the distress he was causing them by his deception. He broke off another two squares of chocolate and held it out to them. Both Hilde and her husband declined, but Max was insistent. They reluctantly each took pieces and Max watched as they relaxed and sucked on their chocolate. Slowly sharing the bar, they finished it.  Max glanced at the wagon boards hopefully where the rest of the chocolate lay hidden. Hilde followed his gaze. “Have another, we have more than enough.”

Max unwrapped another bar and ate a piece. But the chocolate didn’t taste the same, it laid heavily on his tongue. The flavour was as thick and cloying as the pea soup had been earlier. A memory had resurfaced with the taste of chocolate. He remembered Sunday evenings sharing a square with his mother by the fireplace after dinner. It was a memory he hadn’t thought about in years. He swallowed the thick bitter , sickeningly sweet coating on his tongue and  politely declined Hilde’s offer of another square. “I’m not used to that. It’s a bit too rich.”

The woman nodded but insisted he take the bar with him. Max accepted it and stored the candy in his pocket. He didn’t  dare take another bite,  it was hard enough keeping what he had already eaten down.

The  wagon started back and slowly the muffled trot of the horses and the creaking of the wagon boards settled into a comfortable rhythm. Max leaned back wrapped in the quilt and stared into the night, thinking about what he would do once he reached Munich. He was aware Leopold and his wife although they had turned around and were talking quietly amongst themselves, were still wary of him. And he couldn’t blame them, they were carrying an entire wagonful of contraband that would have them sent to jail at the very least.

Almost an hour had passed and Max was drifting in and out of sleep and wakefulness. He didn’t trust Leopold and Hilde, in fact he didn’t trsut anybody, but he hadn’t slept fully in over a day. Against his will he succumbed to sleep.

_He was sitting in the front room , in  a chair next to his uncle listening as he read the torah. Max was bored he looked around at the people gathered in the room until he caught his cousin Isaac’s gaze. The older boy wasn’t following along either. Instead he was holding something in his hand. As Max watched he flashed it at him , with a wicked grin and then tucked it in his own pocket and stuck out his tongue.  Max glared at him and wriggled slightly in his chair causing his uncle to momentarily pause in his reading to give Max a stern look._

_Max turned his eyes back to the page they were supposed to be on , but before long he glanced at his cousin again.  This time the boy had taken out what Max recognised as his stylus from school and snapped it in half. He let the pieces lay in front of Max in tragic disrepair before he stashed the two ends in his pocket. His eyes glared at Max, the invitation was clear._

_A fight was waiting._

_Max, gave a shout of fury and leaped off  the chair next to his uncle. He made it to his cousin as the other boy jumped up. Max succeeding in landing a solid blow, red gushed from Isaac’s nose, staining Max’s hands. He went in for another  blow but was stopped by a restraining hand.  Before he could wriggle free he was lifted bodily up and turned to look someone in the face. He froze as he stared into his uncle’s eyes._

_Later as Max pulled his trousers up over his smarting rear, his uncle spoke to him. His voice was raspy with the beginning of what would be his death in a few years. “Max, you cannot fight with everybody for everything.”_

_Max just stared at his uncle with a sullen expression._

_Max’s uncle sighed and he rubbed a hand over his beard and then asked. “What did Isaac do.”_

_Silence was the answer he got. Max was not a snitch, he didn’t need to his uncle to mete out punishment. He would do that later with his fists, or at least try to._

_Max’s uncle sighed, and then gestured for his nephew to take a seat. Max perched on the edge a chair taking care to put as little of his weight as possible on his still stinging bottom.  His uncle settled in a chair next to him and pulled out a book. Reading was the though farthest from Max mind. Instead he was envisioning the different ways he could seek retribution on his cousin._

_“Read this.” A heavy book was placed in Max lap. His uncle pointed to a page and waited expectantly. In a voice cloudy with equal parts childish resignation and insolence he read the expected words. They were rushed and jumbled , he made to shut the book but his uncle said . “again and slower.”_

_Max read the words repeatedly until his uncle was satisfied. Finally his uncle asked him the meaning of the Hebrew he had read. Max told him and satisfied his uncle let him leave. The Hebrew words of forgiveness and piece cast aside already to fall slowly to the ground. Max’s uncle was satisfied though._

_What he didn’t know was that nothing was going to stop the young fist fighter in the making. Not the words of any deity, nor any punishments his uncle or mother could devise. Max was a fighter, it was in his soul and it would save his life._

“We’re here.”

Max awoke to a gentle hand on his shoulder and a soft whisper near his ear. He sat straight up, automatically moving away from whoever was touching him, even before his eyes had opened.  The darkness hit him first, even though he was far away from any home,  it was soothing giving him the perception of a little safety.

Next his eyes adjusted enough to find see a woman leaning towards him. He stared at her in shock and mistrust. Eyes darted back and forth as he searched for his familiar surroundings of drop sheets and paint cans.

“Where—“ he stopped the words as the night’s events came back to him. Then he straightened up and took more notice of his surroundings. There were trees behind him and on his side’s dead grass, dotted with sparse bushes. Ahead he could just make out the faint outline of buildings.

The woman he no recognised as Hilde, offered an answer to his questioning gaze. “we’re at the edge of Munich.

“Danke,” He muttered as he hastily fumbled for his suitcase. Hilde passed it to him, Max noticed  one of the clasps was undone. Before he could fix  it the woman spoke, her voice was hesitant, but mixed with curiosity and fear. “You –talk in your –sleep.” Max stilled, his fingers still fastened about his suit case clasp. He waited for her to say something else but this time her husband Leopold spoke. “Hilde.” It was a warning.

Max stared between the man and his wife. Then he scrambled upward with his suitcase in hand and muttered . “Danke, again.” He gave a quick nod and hopped from the wagon to the ground. He had taken one step in the direction of the city when the woman spoke again. This time it was different. Max started to reply, and then caught himself. He turned to stare at her, she quailed under his gaze.  Max still had the remnants of a reply on his lips, but he couldn’t say it. To do so would be to give himself up, and to confirm the woman’s suspicion.

Instead he let his voice harden, allowing the fear filling his chest to turn his voice into a diamond edge. “You would be good to avoid speaking that language Frau, lest somebody mistake you for a Jew.”

 The woman paled. “Oh, I’m sorry it was just a saying I once heard, I had no idea.” Max nodded again and continued walking. His gait was steady. But inside he was still reeling. The woman had suspected. Maybe it was after she had opened his suitcase and seen something that alerted her, or maybe it was the way he had acted. But he was sure, especially by what she had said that it was because of something he had said. And he  was almost positive she had heard it while he was asleep, when he had mostly likely been unwittingly repeating the passage his uncle had made him memorise.

Somewhere in the city of Munich the clock struck three. Max heard the chimes. He realised it had been four hours. Four hours and he was still alive. He had beaten his own prediction.

Rather than alleviate some of his fear it only worsened it. He was sure that he had only been a little wrong and any moment perhaps four hours ad thirty minutes or five hours, he would be drawing his last breath. He was desperately trying to convince himself of the opposite.

It wasn’t working.

If he knew what was going to be waiting for him in his supposed place of refuge in Munich, he would have been even more terrified. As it was he was walking toward a goal, or so he thought. I knew what he was  walking towards and it wasn’t a warm bed or a hot meal, or even a dank cellar hidden away.

I’ve got your curiosity piqued now don’t I? I won’t hold the suspense any longer , that’s not my way. Max was walking towards nothing. Allow me to explain.

 

***** A DESCRIPTION OF NOTHING*****

**A deserted house at 114 Lederhause.**

**Furniture laying trashed inside,**

**mice nibbling the leftovers in the cupboards.**

**And the hiding place of three Jews thrown wide open for all to see.**

So you at least are prepared. For the stark realisation of what’s to happen. Maybe then you’ll be able to pay attention to what’s important, at least for me. And that’s reaction. Humans have interesting reactions to events. The shock of something not being how it is expected is fascinating.

And trust me I’ve seen a lot of shock in my time. It comes with the nature of my work. And it’s always worth watching.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Historical Note: In Nazi Germany certain items such as coffee, butter, chocolate, etc were either heavily rationed or not available at all. So smuggling such items could have harsh penalties including death in some instances.


	5. Chapter 5

Part 2

A few pages of the Munich News

Featuring:

Another near miss-A priest who was a thief of a different sort—

an eccentric Nazi—Two families—Moulded bread and stale water—

Rats in a dank cellar—Crumpled newspapers—a story teller

Max passed through sparse fields, gilded with a coating of pale snow . He creped by houses in which the occupants were fast asleep. And finally he arrived on the streets of Munich. The city was foreboding, to Max it had an ominous feel almost like a tomb. It felt strangely devoid of life and like it was missing something.

Some may say it was in his imagination. But I think it was the hundreds of people who had been carted off from the place where they had once made their homes. I think it was the lingering essence of the now dead, men, women and children who had once walked the streets and lived and worked amongst the people who would turn them in and ultimately stand by as they were marched to their deaths. Maybe, I’m just being superstitious, but stranger things have happened and any event involving humans is typically the strangest of all.

The cobblestone, had a sharp sound as his boots struck the ground. Max’s breath billowed in the air making a faint cloud. He passed very few people , the ones he did nodded at him or offered a quick ‘Heil Hitler” before going on their way. Max responded appropriately, he nodded to the people who walked passed, he walked carefully. Not too fast and not to slow, so as to not attract attention. He was going through the motions. Inside he was more terrified then he had ever been, but outside he was calm.

Max turned the corner and glanced down at the address in his hand, then he checked the street sign. The paper was crumpled in his fist as he moved forward. Sweat-smeared ink coated his palm. Fifty more steps, he urged himself, twenty...fifteen....he counted them off in his head. Until he arrived at his destination. It was a building sandwiched between others. The brick was cracked and browned vines trailed up the front. No light cold be seen from inside and the building had a distinct state of disrepair. Not enough to be noticeable at first glance but if one looked they would see the small signs.

His breath was caught in his throat as Max started up the steps. They were rickety and worn with use. Max made it to the top and stood in front of the door , his hand was poised over the painted wood. He took a deep breath and knocked. The sound was exquisitely loud. ‘

It felt wrong. Max was sure everybody had heard. He glanced around half-expecting to see Gestapo surrounding him with weapons aimed, and neighbours still in their nightclothes pointing accusingly at the Jewish impostor. Instead he saw nothing, everything was the same as it had been. Max summoned his courage and knocked again, this time a bit louder. He waited, holding his breath for the door to open . He imagined what he was going to say.

Minutes passed.

Nothing happened.

Max tried again time, knocking several times in quick succession. The response was the same, even more inactivity. He swallowed and stared at the unmoving wooden door with a sense of betrayal. He couldn’t believe it and yet he did. He had come all that way and there was nowhere for him to go. He was going to die.

Had Hans known that all along? Max couldn’t help wondering, whether the ticket, the papers had just been a false hope to get the Jew out the house. He couldn’t help wondering had Hans known that he was sending him to a dead end. Then he felt ashamed of himself for thinking like that. If Hans had known he wouldn’t have done such a thing. He wasn’t like Max. He wasn’t so afraid to die that he was willing to risk the lives of others and let people die in his place to save his own hide.

The ever present guilt washed over Max again. Max stared at the door and vainly knocked one last time. He had travelled the day, hoping at the end not to find safety— He knew there was no safety to be found for him, wherever he went danger was lurking because of what he was.  He had hoped to find a place to hide away, where what he was would be noticed. After years of hiding, it felt natural to him. Silent hours felt better than other’s voices and life’s commotion. Solitary days, monotonous in their tedium was more normal than the varied pace of life.

The fear and worry as he waited to be found, felt better than walking in public hidden in plain sight.  He spotted a guard walking father down the street.. Max held his breath as he waited to be stopped.

It only took a few seconds, then he was spotted. The man started walking towards him Max froze. He only had a few seconds to wait and then it started. First the man slowed to a stop, he noticed the uniform Max wore and his stern expression changed slightly.

“What are you out for?”

The words wouldn’t come at first, his tongue was heavy in his mouth. Finally Max was able to lie. “I was trying to visit my Aunt but she doesn’t appear to be home.”

The man’s eyes narrowed sceptically, “You do know what time it is?”

“I misjudged my train stop and arrived late.  My leave is over tomorrow night , and I have to be on a train by early afternoon. “

The man’s face relaxed at the comment, he nodded knowingly.”, I know how it is. You miss family, barely gt to see them and when you finally do they’re like strangers. I was in the Great War, a bit to old now, but once a soldier always a soldier, eh?”

Max, nodded. The watchman continued conversationally. “So your aunt lived here? Was her name  Ilse Reich?”

Max nodded again.

“Ah, they took her away a few weeks ago, you must not have heard. “ The man leaned closer and lowered his voice. “The official word was she was cheating the ration cards, but unofficially I heard they found three people in her basement... Jews.”

Max sharply drew in a breath, the man nodded sympathetically at what he thought was shock at the crime she had committed. “I know awful, yes? Anyway, I knew Ilse always seemed like a nice lady a little eccentric but she’d give you the clothes off her back, used to stop in and have coffee some days. But if she was doing what they said she got what she deserved.”

Numbly, Max nodded in agreement. The man said . “Terrible thing to be accused of or have done, hiding Jews , this nation’s enemy while our boys are out there fighting , it just makes you sick. I say do away with the lot of them Jew lovers and Jews alike, _Ja_?”

“Ja” Max replied.

The man nodded thoughtfully and stared at Max for a moment before observing. “You don’t look so good, might be coming down with something.”

“I’m getting over the flu.”  Max forced himself to say. His uniform was sticking to his back and his face was wet with sweat.  His stomach was roiling.

The man eyed him and then asked. “You have somewhere to stay tonight? It’s freezing out here and the weather will do your health no favours.”

“I have somewhere to go.” Max managed to lie.

 The man nodded at him . “Well _Guten Nacht_ then and Heil Hitler.” He snapped off a crisp Nazi salute.

“Yes, Heil Hitler, “ Max raised his hand to give the salute, it took all his willpower to keep it from trembling.  He watched as the man walked away, continuing in his rounds until he faded in the distance.

Max drew a long shuddering breath, he swiped a hand over his damp face, wiping his palm on the legs of his trousers. He felt obvious standing outside the woman’s vacant house. It had been a miracle he wasn’t caught. He couldn’t believe it wasn’t obvious what he was. He had been waiting for the moment of recognition and the sequence of events that would follow. In fact he would have welcomed it, anything to end the awful anticipation.

He wanted to be sick, but he didn’t have the time. His stomach churned but he swallowed down the acid that had been forced into his mouth.  He tried to figure out what to do, his feet started walking, but he had no idea where  he was going. He was free. in the uniform he wore he could technically go anywhere. But he was a Jew in the middle of Germany. No better than a deer surrounded by wolves. Wherever he ran he was running towards death.

The man was right it was freezing. Max sweat dampened uniform was painfully cold. He  glimpsed hints of light peeking out from behind blackout curtains as he passed homes. He didn’t dare stop and ask for shelter.

He wasn’t ready to die yet.

To take his mind off how cold he was he imagined the basement at Himmel street. Now, that had been cold he convinced himself. That had been freezing he whispered to himself. He remembered the snowman , they had built and how long it had taken to melt. He shivered and rubbed his arms, he still felt more cold than he ever had in his memory.

He was surely going to die on the streets of Munich and the interesting thing was at first as everybody saw the uniform there would be regret and horror, but as it was discovered who he was people would spit on his body. They would kick his corpse; he would be dumped in a heap with the garbage. Just another piece of Jewish rubbish, good riddance.

A wind blew down the street, a paper wrapped around his leg. He pulled it off and was about to toss it aside when he read the notice.

*****THE NOTICE*****

**St. Georg Church**

**Services daily**

**Alfred Delp**

 

Max memory went back to the newspapers Liesel had brought him. One he remembered had mentioned St. Georg’s Church, and he was almost sure a man by the name of Delp had been mentioned. He stared at the damp cold paper and tried to remember what he had read. He didn’t know what it was important, but he had to remember. He felt his life depended on that one memory.

He was right. He had exactly three minutes to remember. The answer came to him with a minute to spare.  The man, Alfred Delp has been outspoken about Hitler’s regime and the treatment  of Jews.

Max glanced at the address of the St. Georg’s church, it was only a few streets away. He could be there within minutes. It was a poor hope but maybe the man knew of somewhere he could go or at least would let him stay the night out of the cold. He started walking , he had nothing to lose that couldn’t be lost at any moment anyway.

Max turned the corner seconds before two watchmen  appeared down the road. They continued on their course unaware that they had just missed a Jew.  Max was unaware that he had missed them. The possible outcome of their possible intersection was only seen by me.

***** THE OTHER OUTCOME*****

**Much like the first time he was stopped Max would have been questioned.**

**This time however his answers would have been slower.**

**They would have sensed something was not right.**

**He would have been searched.**

**Face pressed against a cold brick building.**

**Legs spread apart. A gun trained on him**

**His papers would have been just enough for doubt to be cast.**

**They would take him in.**

**Questioning would start.**

**Who was his commander? Why was he wandering around late at night.**

**His answers would be stammering. He would be held overnight and made to take off his uniform.**

**They would watch, they would notice how he differed from other males.**

**He would be found, and after a beating confess and in a cold cell, one Jewish impostor would be shot.**

As it was Max continued walking, until he stood in front of St. Georg’s church. He stared at the inscription over the doors and then hesitantly pushed the door open and walked inside. It was pleasantly warm inside after the weather outside.  Max stared around at the ceiling and candles lined up around the altar. He had seen the inside of a church once before, but it hadn’t been as grand as this .

The church appeared empty and he realised as he stared around, how foolish it was for him to think somebody would be awake that late at night. Still at least, it was somewhere for him to spend the night. He was thirsty and spotted a small container of water resting near the altar. He walked up to the marble bowl and briefly stared at the liquid wondering did it serve some purpose  he didn’t know about of whether it was perhaps for washing hands or some ritual. But his thirst won out or his concern, he sat his suitcase down and cupped his hands drinking several mouthfuls of the cool liquid. It had a slight flowery taste but otherwise was fine.

Then he glanced around , he was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to sleep. He one of the wooden benches in the middle and moved as close to the wall as possible. He curled up his head pillowed on his arms and his suitcase on the ground within reach. He was afraid to sleep, he didn’t know what he would do tomorrow and he was worried somebody would find him. But he hadn’t slept in almost two days and his eyes closed against his will.

His awakening was abrupt . It began with a cool hand and a whispered. “Child.” And ended with a silent cry, gasping breath and wild eyes.  Max sat upright automatically pulling away from the person near him, “please,--please.” He didn’t now what he was asking for but he repeated the words  as he stared at the man standing over him.

His voice was barely above a whisper and it petered out to a near-silence repetition as he noticed the man’s robes and the kind face.

“ you’re safe.” The voice was quiet and soothing. Max took another breath  he straightened up  and without noticing fell silent. He was quiet but his heart was still hammering in his chest.

The man sat on the bench next to him, and waited. Finally when Max was somewhat calm, he asked. “What you doing here?”

“It was cold, I didn’t have anywhere to go.” The words were the truth,  a lie hadn’t even occurred to Max.

The priest nodded. “Who are you?”

“Max Van—“ Max caught himself halfway, and instead said the name on his forged documents. But it was too late the priest was staring at him , his eyes were all to knowing.  Max started to move, he grabbed his suitcase and tried to scramble past the priest. He twisted as his arm was caught. The grip was gentle but unyielding, Max turned back to the man holding him.

“Please, just let me go.  I don’t want to die. Please let me go.” He felt guilty even as he said the words. Who was he to as another person to risk their life for him, who was he to not want to die or even ask for mercy when millions of others weren’t getting it. He deserved to die for being selfish, he was sure.

The man stared into his eyes , then said. “I’ll let you go if you promise me two things. “

Max  hesitated wondering what the man could possibly want, if it was money he had very little. But whatever it was Max would agree to it, he wanted to live even if it was only for another few minutes. He nodded once , sharply.

“Answer two questions...Are you a Jew?”

Max swallowed roughly and nodded once. He waited for the cry of alarm. Instead the man  asked the next question. It startled him into silence.

“Do you need somewhere to hide?”

Max tried to speak once. The words clogged his throat. He tried to speak a second time and gagged. Instead he nodded again.

The man released his arm. “I can help you then, I’m  Delp, Alfred Delp .”

Max nearly collapsed, before he could do so a firm hand pushed him down onto a bench. Waves of sickening relief crashed over him.  He couldn’t speak and for minutes he didn’t’ try, instead he sat on the bench drawing in gulps of air. 

Max, glanced at the man who had sat next to him. He was older than him perhaps in his late thirties  or early forties, he face was kind but intelligent. Finally, Max asked. “Why?”

The man, stared at Max a moment before answering, he knew what Max was asking, It was the same question many Jews had, though rarely asked. “Why was somebody willing to risk their life for them.

For Delp the answer was easy. “Because it’s right.” He stood, and grabbed Max suitcase from the ground. “Follow me.” On shaky legs, Max walked behind the priest.

They walked behind into a side door, near the altar. Past the door was a small corridor leading, lined with religious symbols. Crucifixes, paintings, and statutes stared down at him.  The walls were cracked and bore signs of water damage and the only light provided was from a candle the man had grabbed from the altar on his way past. After a few moments, the stairs angled downward slightly and , they emerged into a crudely furnished room. A rough wooden desk occupied  the middle of the room, a fireplace was to one side, and a cot was in the corner. “This is where I live,” Delp settled the candle in a holder in the middle of the table and turned to face Max. “You’re welcome to stay here until; we can find somewhere else for you to go. Nobody should come search here; even the Nazi’s wouldn’t think I would go so far to hide a Jew.”

Max breathed out a breath he didn’t know he had held. A whispered thank you seeped  from his lips.

Delp nodded and then said. “This will have to do for short term but I’ll see if I can find somewhere else soon.” After a brief tour that amounted to little more than a  glance around the cramped quarters, Max was left alone. 

His  body had calmed but his mind was still consumed with all of the possibilities. He couldn’t accept that even for a moment he was safe.

Restlessly he moved around the room, tracing his fingers over worn books titled in Latin and embossed with religious symbols. He examined the crucifix hanging on the wall and reflected.  How could there be any god? How could anybody allow such atrocities as were being committed? He turned away from the crucifix and remembering how he had passed many days in such a manner, he selected a book from those on the shelves.

It was a wrong copy of the bible. He skimmed over the pages without noticing, the words.  They were meaningless anyway to him. They were as true as the people who had professed to believe in it.  

Where was God now? As millions died, innocent and wicked alike. Children, men and women, where was God to halt the slaughter.

Max  couldn’t reconcile the thought with what had happened to him...if there was a god, then it would have to beg for forgiveness.

Max clamped the book shut, closing the lies and the promises. He curled up on the cot in the corner, uncertain what the next hours would bring. As his eyes closed he tried to curb the part of him that didn’t care. He wanted to live of this he was sure.

Or maybe he was just too scared to die...

Max awoke to the sound of footsteps in the middle of the night.  He scrambled out of bed, his eyes barely able to see in the dim glow of candlelight.   The sounds came closer and he could hear the murmur of hushed voices that were quickly silenced. His heart was hammering in his chest. Quietly he grabbed the butter knife left on the table from his last meal and drew back into the shadows. He wasn’t sure what he was planning on doing with the knife, it would be little use against the Gestapo, who surely would have guns and other weapons.  But it came him the pitiful semblance of power to have t in his hand. His grip was slippery with sweat and his breath was hushed in his throat as he struggled to remain silent. Slowly, footsteps continued down the steps, until he heard  a shoe hit the stone floor. He was half-hidden by the curtain he had ducked behind.

All he could see was the back of a man’s head from his vantage point.  The man wasn’t dressed in a uniform but that did nothing to alleviate Max’s worry. Perhaps it wasn’t  the Gestapo but some curious civilian who had grown curious.  His worst thoughts were confirmed when the man asked, in perfect German “Where is he? Nobody is here.”

Max heard another series of footsteps and then Delp emerged, the man's face was furrowed as he glanced around an apparently deserted room. “He was here no less than a few hours ago.”

Max held his breath, he didn’t want to believe the rector had informed the authorities of his hiding place, but the truth was obvious.  Somebody moved closer and made to brush aside the curtain hiding him, instinctively Max reached out . His hands grasped a fistful of fabric and he tugged a body into view. He  brought the knife he held towards the body he had caught. The blade glinted in the candlelight, Max’s hand trembled.  Max stared down at his quarry with shock.

Then a cry half-command, half-shock called out. “Max.” The rector words froze in the air,  a whimper creased the air. Max swallowed and released the rumpled jacket he was holding balled in his fist and with it the little boy he had grabbed. The knife fell from his hand with a clatter against the stones.  The boy was now sniffling into the skirt’s of a young woman who had appeared behind the first man.

Everybody was frozen staring at each other, the only sound heard were quiet muffled sobs. Finally the Max broke the silence. “I’m sorry, I—I didn’t know—I thought...his words trailed off.

Delp glanced between the two parties  and broke the uncomfortable silence that had settled once again. “It is  who should apologise, I neglected to tell you that these people were coming.”  He swept a hand out to encompass the group of people standing behind him, “these are the Jesselman’s”

Max watched them, still unsure as to what was expected of him. They all watched each other in , finally the father cleared his throat and said. I’m Jacob, this is my wife Adele, our s on Wolfgang” He gestured to the woman standing slightly behind him and the little boy now watching Max from the safety of behind his mother’s skirt.

Jacob continued. “And Charlotte and baby  Gertie.”

Max noticed a little girl he hadn’t seen at first peek out at him and the woman shifted a bundle in her arms that he now realised was a child. He didn’t speak,  it still wasn’t clear what was going on.

The Jesselman’s were still watching Max with apprehensive curiosity. Max realised he was still wearing the Nazi uniform he had arrived in. Before he could speak Delp explained  the purpose of both their meetings.

“I have found somewhere for you to go.” Max felt a wash of relief threaten to wash over him, but he bit back the felling.  He shouldn’t feel relieved . Most likely where he was going wasn’t anywhere safer than the places he had hidden in the past. And still, now that he had actually felt like he was alive, he was reluctant to hide away in what would once again be like a living tomb. He didn’t want to have to spend endless hours, silent, tired, cramped and hungry as he waited for time to pass and each second wondered whether he would be caught.

Delp continued. “The authorities have been watching me for some time and they suspect my activities, it was impossible to arrange passage for you from the country, however this family has a hiding spot arranged . But the person who has agreed to take them only wants one, family. He says it’s less risk.” The rector cleared his throat and a small frown creased his brow. “Normally we wouldn’t hide such a large group, but there’s no other option at the moment.”

Max, was even more confused . “But you said he was only taking one family.”

“He is, you’re going to pretend to be an uncle.” The rector then proceeded to explain the plan to the confused  the Jesselman’s and Max and then he left a packet of papers on the table and two keys. Then they were alone.

There was silence and more stares.

Finally, Jacob Jesselman gave a mirthless laugh. “This is all crazy, “

Max nodded he couldn’t agree more.

They didn’t know it was about to get crazier.  Life’s weird that way....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alfred Delp was a real life person. He was a German Jesuit Priest who lived from 1907-1945. Around 1941 he became rector of St. Georg Church, in the Munich neighbourhood of Bogenhausen. He secretly helped Jewish people escape to Switzerland. He was implied to be involved in the 1944 plot to kill Hitler and was arrested, sentenced to death and eventually executed.
> 
> Thanks for reading, next chapter will be coming next week or the week after.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update will be in two weeks.

**The Defiant One**

Let’s imagine the next part of this story like a bridge. We have a river on one side a man called Eckhart Braun and on the other side the Jesselman’s and Max. They’re far apart, not a chance of reaching each other and no reason to. I’ll provide the way and the reason.

And boards and nails aren’t what are needed to bridge the gap. It’s a story. I’ll tell you it, but only once...

Claire was born in 1920, to two happy parents. Her parents had many hopes for her, she was their first child and they hoped to have many more. That wasn’t to be.  
Claire’s mother soon after her child’s birth had an accident. She left behind her daughter and a grief stricken husband. He was to never marry again; he harboured a deep grief and also a deep hatred. They were both born the day his wife died. How did she die you ask? Let, me tell you.

*****May, 26 1920*****

**It was raining, and a woman was hurrying to get back to her child and husband.**

**She was thinking of a hot cup of tea, a warm dinner and night in front of the fireplace.**

**She didn’t see the wagon come around the corner, with a horse that was spooked by the lighting.**

**One moment of thinking about a pleasant evening ...the next wood splintering, horses whinnying, bones crushed.**

**And a body leaking red across cobble stone.**

**The Jewish driver jumped out the wagon, horrified at what had happened. It was just an accident. But he blamed himself and the woman’s husband blamed him also. He hated horses from that day....**

**and he hated Jews.**

Claire grew up and into a beautiful and intelligent young woman. She was loved by all, but particularly her father. They agreed upon almost everything. They did everything together, except for one day.

When Hitler came into power Claire’s father became more vocal about his hatred of Jews, he joined the party immediately, and he encouraged his daughter to take part in Nazi activities. Claire couldn’t understand how an entire group of people could be vilified to an entire nation. She didn’t have the hatred her father did, and she didn’t understand humans.

After a while the difference in opinion became magnified. It grew until an argument was inevitable. Voices were raised, insults passed, and finally it ended with Claire boarding a train for France where she planned to study.

Her father was devastated, he tried to call her back, but some things can’t be undone. Claire was already well on her way to a new life and a meeting. The last meeting she would ever have and some would say the arguably most important one. You ask who fits this bill, I don’t like to brag, but it’s me.

In France, she attended university. She made friends and most importantly she joined La Résistance Française , the French resistance against the Nazi’s. It was to become her life and her death.

It was raining the night I took her, the sky was a deep rich, blue-almost black. Lightning flashed in and out of view. She was hidden in the cover of the night; she was sneaking past a German encampment. The people she had guided on the first leg of their journey were already well n their way to safety. She had just delivered a package, and it wasn’t goods it was people.  She had done it to many times to count. This time she was caught. It wasn’t carelessness on her part or complacency; it was quite simply that her luck had run out.

Somebody called out for her to stop, she continued. A Soldier squinted in the dark and spotted a quickly moving figure crouching low to the ground. He raised his rifle and it sounded one sharp crack at the same time as a bout of thunder.

Claire never heard the sound of the hot piece of metal that pierced her back to come out her chest. It went straight through her heart, her body toppled; blood was already dripping from her mouth. She fell to a pile of wet leaves and I stooped down and grabbed her soul before it even had time to cool. It was light. She didn’t struggle like some tried to do, she wasn’t heavy with undone tasks weighed to her.

I felt a question rise like a whispery pale, white vapour from the airy thing I held.

It was a question, I couldn’t answer.

 That isn’t my way. Instead, I took a small detour on our path, it was rather quick. I showed her something and then I felt her relax even more in my arms; she was ready for the next leg of our trip.

As I walked away from the sight, I glanced back. All these years, eternities upon eternities and I was still surprised at humans.  One sight and she was at peace, I wished I could feel the same.

*****A Vision of Peace*****

**Three children seated at a kitchen table still wet with rain.**

**Dirty faces as they spooned soup into hungry mouths.**

**Three damp coats with yellow stars clinging to their bodies.**

**Three minds stamped with the memory of a woman, who had saved their life but they didn’t know they would never see again.**

Claire’s father got news that she had died. It travelled fast, a telegram arrived. It was blunt and impersonal, with no explanation. Just three words.

Claire is dead.

Her father sank to the doorway in disbelief, he refused to accept it. He needed to see to know, with his own eyes. With trembling hands he grabbed his coat and hat and made his way to the train station. It was a long and short journey to France, and when he got there he went t where she had gone to school. The students were sympathetic, but none could tell him what he desperately needed to know. None knew the details of that rainy night

Finally, Claire’s father found one person who knew the truth. It was a young man, named Henri Jour with German-blond hair and reddened eyes. His clothes were wrinkled like he didn’t care about his appearance, at least not anymore, and in his pocket, sitting coldly was a ring meant for the dead girl. He had delayed one day waiting for the perfect time, her birthday, she would have been twenty-one. He had waited one day too late.

He was about to walk away from the insistent man, who was asking everybody about Claire, until something stopped him. Perhaps it was the man grabbing his arm, but I think it was the note of desperation in his voice.

Henri turned and answered the man’s query with a yes. What came next were brief introductions and tentative questions, until they were both sitting at table with a cup of steaming untouched tea in front of them and a story that one didn’t want to tell and another needed to hear in between them.

Henri stirred his tea. “Herr Braun, there is not much to tell. Claire died, in a hunting accident. “

Claire’s father Herr Braun looked up from where he was watching a rising spiral of steam and he was just in time to see the hints of deception fading from Henri’s eyes. “Yes, I understand but if it was raining and visibility was so poor why was anybody hunting?”

Henri’s eyes hardened and he swallowed, and then another lie spilled from his lips. But Herr Braun was alike a hound with a scent. He followed until he found his quarry an when he discovered the real reason his daughter died, his hatred grew. One word spat from his mouth with enough venom for the entire group f Nazi’s “Jews.”

Henri turned away from where e had been starting out the window. He was suddenly on guard, he realised perhaps he had made a mistake. Herr Braun was standing. “You say she joined the resistance, and you’re a part of this. My daughter, died for the same _dreck_ that killed her mother. The Jews will rot in hell for what they have done; they will be destroyed if I have to kill them myself....” He continued on in this fashion, and I’ sure the neighbours heard, but all they merely thought was that someone else was ensconced in the fervour of the Nazi party.

The tirade continued for a few minutes until it was ended with a sharp blow to the jaw. Henri stood over Herr Braun and the young man was shaking with rage. He leaned close pulling the man up by his collar. “Claire was a fine woman, the best. Much better than her father and I can’t see how such _merde_ as you could have raised her.”

Herr Braun coloured at the insult but Henri wasn’t done. “She risked her life and ultimately died helping others. The very same people you are cursing, she gave everything to save. And you dishonour her memory but condemning them to death for hers.”

Henri released Herr Braun. They both stood panting and staring. Moments passed and ten Herr Braun brushed past Henri and grabbed his hat and coat, without another word he departed.  He stopped by Claire’s grave his house.

Once, there he spoke to no one for days. When he finally did speak it was the last words anybody had expected him to say and it was to a very unlikely source. He was talking to one of the members of the German resistance.

The words were muted and begrudging. “How can I help?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes:La Résistance Française is the name used for the many resistance movements in France during WWII. They were made up of various men and women who together worked to undermine Nazi Regime. (In rural areas they were called Maquis, [a nod to my other fandom ST: VOY]). Together they worked to get Jewish people and allied forces caught behind enemy lines to safety, they passed out literature against the Nazi's , conducted guerrilla warfare, and did everything they could to stop the spread of evil. 
> 
> Translations:
> 
> Dreck: (German) meaning dirt  
> Merde: (French) meaning shit


	7. Chapter 7

So you see neither Max nor the Jesselman’s knew what they were getting into. I don’t even think, the German resistance fully knew. Herr Braun motivations weren’t from deep seated convictions, or any lofty motive. They were from love. And I think that’s lofty enough, if only they had stayed that way. But anger overtook him again, drowning out what he could have done and he was left with the so human and so sick desire to make another feel something of his pain.

The Jesselman’s and Max settled down in the rector’s room, across the table from each other. They were in for a long wait.

The quiet was thick in the air, tentative questions and even more cautious answers were heard, but for the most part it was silence. Both parties were wary of each other. They had little trust. It was almost laughable really, they had millions of people against them, entire groups of people who would have gladly seen them all dead and yet they were concerned about each other.

*****A SAD FACT ABOUT HUMANS*****

**Adversity can bring people together.**

**It can forge a bond greater than any other.**

**But most often it pulls them apart.**

The silent vigil was interrupted when the candle had burned down to a sputtering barely visible light and   everybody had fallen into a worried and uncomfortable sleep.

The nasty shock of awakening hit them all as a voice called out in a low whisper. “It’s time.”

Max awakened, as always with a strangled cry on his lips and wide searching eyes. His face wore the same look of panic that was mirrored by the awakening Jesselmans’.

The baby started to cry and then was quickly hushed as it nursed. Max found himself staring at an unfamiliar woman. She had a long coat on that was damp, a hat that shielded a head of golden curls and a face that had eyes that were older than her years. Next to her was a man, slightly older and with a face that resembled a rodent in everything but the eyes. His eyes were cunning and but not in a malicious way, more like they were a message that few could read. The message was clear if you could: He wouldn’t hesitate to do whatever it took to get the job done.

As he turned, toward the light Max noticed a long scar disfiguring the side of his face and then the man had turned away.

The woman was speaking now. “Our names aren’t important, you should try not to speak but if you must call us I’m Karla and he’s Mann.” She gestured to the man standing next to her before continuing to speak curtly. “It will be dark soon and people are going home, it’s the best time to move you with0ut being obvious. We’ll split into three groups.”

Max and the Jesselman’s stood in shock, but there was no time for that. The woman moved toward Max thrusting a bundle of clothes into his hands. “You need to change out of that uniform, leave it behind we’ll take care of it.”

Max could only nod numbly as his fingers gripped the cold cloth. The man was moving toward Frau Jesselman in his hand he held a handkerchief. “This will help the baby sleep.” He moved his hand to cover the child’s mouth and the mother jerked away, mouthing protests, her husband’s hand on her arm stilled her and Max watched as the baby’s body slackened as it fell asleep. Time passed quickly, other bundles of clothing were passed out to the Jesselman’s. A maid’s uniform for the mother and a set of dirty work clothes for the father. They all dressed and stood uncomfortably in their facades. Sweat was dripping in fine lines down all the adults necks, the children sensed something was amiss, but they had learned to be quiet. Even as young as they were they knew to hide was to live. Max barely had time to feel relief at removing the German Soldier’s uniform before a new kind of discomfort was thrust on him

It was in the form of a small wrapped up bundle that was passed from a reluctant Mrs. Jesselman’s arms to his.  He nearly dropped the warm bundle of blankets so great was his shock. Luckily he had fast reflexes, his prior time dodging punches in his early life saved a small infant from tumbling to the ground.

Max’s near carelessness, elicited a cry of worry from one anxious mother, her attempt at disagreement was stilled by a stern cry from the husband. There was no time for arguing over trifles.

*****AN UNOTICED PARADOX**  
The mother was concerned about Max, dropping her child**

**It would have been unintentional.**

**She should have been more concerned about the other**

**millions of people in her own country**

**They would have done a lot worse to her child**

**Intentionally.**

Before Max could gather himself, the woman Karla was at his side. Mann was issuing orders.  He went between them distributing items and checking clothes. Herr Jesselman was now dressed in a workman’s uniform, a flat hat completed his look. Frau Jesselman had a maid’s uniform, she was given a wicker basket covered with a cloth. Max wore ordinary clothes.

They were separated into three groups. Adele and her three elder children, Jacob Jesselman who had changed into workman’s clothes and Max. Mann was still speaking and Max caught pieces of the plan. It involved them walking around in the daylight for all to see and Max lost the thread of the conversation at that revelation. All he could imagined was the stares of others seeing right past the clothes he wore and recognising him for the impostor he was.

Mann had stopped speaking and Frau Jesselman rushed forward and gave her sleeping baby a kiss before giving Max a stern glance and drawing back.  There was silence in the room, Mann nodded to Karla “Good luck.”

She didn’t return the words except with a brisk nod and then scooped the small baby up from Max’s arms and started towards the steps gesturing for Max to follow. They ascended the steps and instead of going out into the main church Karla ventured through a back passage. Max walked beside her, he finally was able to ask or at least try to. “What—“

Karla glanced back at him not slowing her pace, she recognised  from his face and the memory of the others she had guided to safety that the shock of the plan had hindered it’s actual comprehension. A quick word was the only explanation she gave. “You and I, we’re married.”

Max gasped and opened his mouth like he was about to speak then closed it. Karla glanced back at him and grinned. “At least for the duration of this trip, _versteht?_ ”

Max, smiled back weakly, Karla had already turned away missing the poor attempt it was just as well, the smile quickly faded leaving behind the raw hidden look of cold, naked fear. The passage soon ended and the found themselves emerging into a cold afternoon. The sun was bright in the sky, and nearly blinding. Max couldn’t help giving a cry of alarm as the rays burned into his eyes. He threw a hand up shielding the harsh beams and still they seeped through. He closed his eyes tightly, turning away and crouched down. The light was too much. Karla had already taken a few steps ahead but turned back as she noted the lack of following footsteps.

Max was blindly groping along the rough brick trying to find the door they had just left. His hands found the cool knob and then he slipped back inside, into the dim light. He opened his eyes, his heart was hammering in his chest, Karla was standing in the doorway, and a corona of light illuminated her as the sunlight threatened to spill indoors. Her brows were knitted together. “What is wrong?”

Max swallowed the words wouldn’t come at first and when they did they were apologetic and ashamed. “The light.”

“The light?” Karla’s eye’s raised as she tried to understand and then it came to her. Before she could speak Max was already offering an explanation.

“I haven’t been outside during the day...for years...I forgot...” Max trailed off, but Karla understood. He had forgotten how the sunlight was so bright, he had forgotten a cold afternoon day with the heat from overhead warming and fighting with the frosty wind caressing your body. He had forgotten the sun nipping at your skin...He had forgotten what it was like to live.

“Come.” Karla was brusque. There was no time for gentle reminders, time was trickling away, and there was a narrow window that meant death or hiding. Max followed Karla and this time he was better prepared, the sun still stung his eyes making the water, the harsh glares still left him feeling exposed, but he walked and each step was a little better. But he couldn’t help staring at the clouds in the sky, or the fluffy plumes of smoke rising from nearby dwellings. He wanted a memory so ever if he never saw the sunlight again, this time he wouldn’t forget. He didn’t want to live and die, in some dark cellar, or hidden room, after years and years of waiting, and at the last moment realise that he had lived only to forget what it was to be alive.

They left through the tiny cemetery behind the church and out onto the streets of Munich. People walked by and inwardly Max cringed at each brief glance, accidental brush, or quick greeting. He found himself smiling at the quick replies, awkwardly nodding at those they passed, but each time he hesitated just a second worrying that he would be noticed. Why wasn’t it painfully obvious who he was, why somebody hadn’t, anybody questioned him yet. The questions tormented him, until each step was torture, the waiting was killing him.

He shivered and tugged the thin coat he didn’t remember putting on, tighter around his shoulders. Karla glanced at him, her voice was low like a whispered promise. “We’re nearly there.”

They turned down another street and Max worst fear was realised. All the blood drained from his face as the man walked towards them. “Out for a stroll?”

It was a passing comment but something made the officer pause and take closer notice. It might have been, the glint of determination in Karla’s eyes or the paleness of Max’s face. But it was nothing tangible that the Gestapo officer could put his finger on, in truth he himself didn’t’ know why he paused.  I knew what it was though; it was the scent of fear.

“A nice day, a bit chilly though.” Karla replied with a half-smile.

The man nodded at her and waited for a response from Max.  A quick reply to a family on a walk, was what the man had intended when he had spoken, in truth they reminded him of his family in earlier days. But now there was something that was tickling at the back of his mind, not allowing him to go on.

His eyes darted between Karla who was still half-smiling as she cradled the baby in her arms and Max who was perfectly still his mouth half-open almost like he was about to speak.

“Is there something wrong here?”

Silence stretched following the man’s words, the seconds grew longer and longer. Suspicion was mounting, Karla half-glanced at Max. He was still frozen in shock, she tried to smile again but it didn’t reach her eyes. The man was about to speak when Max managed to say. “No, we’re fine.”

The officer’s eyes narrowed. “You—“

He didn’t get the chance to finish his statement, Max neatly cut him off with a lie, which was true as it was false. “I’ve been away for a long time, i-it’s strange being other people again.”

The words were part truth, but Max remembered the time of the train and everybody’s assumption then. They had assumed he was a soldier and they were wrong and right at the same time. He wasn’t fighting to take another life, he was fighting to keep his own.

The next words were easier. When the officer asked where he had been stationed the words flew off his lips from half-remembered newspapers, and snatches of radio chatter in front of a fireplace. The lies were enough, the officer nodded and continued on his way.

Max and Karla each let out a collective sigh, not of relief; they weren’t out of danger yet. They turned down a side street and Karla glanced up at Max and hissed out the side of her mouth. “You almost got us caught.”

“I know.”

Karla couldn’t keep the disdain from her voice. “That’s all you can say you _Saukerl_?”

Max almost laughed at the familiar insult, but Karla half-missed the expression. It’s probably best that she did she wouldn’t have known that the hint of panic-stricken humour was from the memory of a woman whose insults legendary. All she would have seen was the fear and half-crazed look in Max’s eyes.

They arrived at the rendezvous with sweat slicked palms and fear tinged steps. It was a smaller house at the outer part of Munich. The brick was in slight disrepair and the steps were cracking from years of trampling footsteps. But that outside of the house wasn’t of importance and for that matter neither was the inside either.

***** THE CONTENTS OF THE STABLE*****

**One rickety rusty wagon,**

**A splinter-filled front seat big enough for two**

**A back large enough to fit plenty of goods and a few people**

**And something extra.**

The couple whose house it was were the Jesselman’s and Max’s next set of would be saviours.  Just as the others had their own motivations this set did too. They were saving the Jesselmans and Max and that in many ways made them different from their Nazi would-be murderers.

You see they hated the Jews just as much, they only difference was they didn’t think it was right to kill them. So much better people, aren’t they? Only despising, hating, belittling but not wanting death.

***** A LITTLE PERSPECTIVE*****

  **Is it was better to mentally, socially, emotionally destroy**

**than to physically do so?**

**What’s the difference for the destroyed?**

In any cases the couple was all smiles on the outside and mentally congratulating themselves on their fine act of mercy to such despicable and pitiful specimens of humanity. The mask of civility was invisible to all present.

The older lady met them at the door after a knock. They were allowed in, but only just.  Seven bodies were crushed in the narrow foyer giving just enough room for the door to shut.

The way to Herr Braun’s house was largely uneventful; the house was somewhere in the countryside. Max had no idea of the exact location, and he didn’t even think to ask. Instead his mind was occupied with the complex question of what would happen when they got there and if they would actually get there. I think he can be forgiven for not bothering to note the location of where he would nearly die.

When they walked in through the back entrance, the Jesselman’s were there also, in the form of a timid maid with two children clinging to her skirts and a repair man who looked very out of place. Two servants were waiting in the backroom to receive them.

Their eyes were hushed and their voices downcast. They knew what Herr Braun did, and they knew what he professed. What they didn’t understand was how the two could be in such stark contrast. Karla, deposited the baby in a relieved Mrs. Jesselman’s arms, before turning to the two servants. “Tell Herr Braun the new arrivals are here.”

The two maids cast slightly fearful looks at the small group of what they knew to be Jews lingering at the edge of the room, before hurrying from the room. As soon as they disappeared, Karla turned to the Jesselman’s and Max, her voice was rushed and low. “There are things you must know. This man will shelter you but he is not your friend. Do not expect mercy if it comes down to that.”

Mr. Jesselman pulled his hand away from where he was standing near his wife and an angry looked graced his face. He needed to expres his fury to someone.

“Then why would you place us here!”

Karla’s voice was soothing and low. “Jacob this was the only...”

“You could have found somewhere else, you don’t care because this isn’t your family. You don’t care because you aren’t a Jew!”

The atmosphere was icy and Karla clearly wanted to react to the comment, but she managed to keep her temper as she began to speak. “Jacob believe me when I say this was the only—“

“This is—“

“Something you should be grateful for.” A new voice spoke. The tone was like the steel of a scalpel, cold precise and impersonal.

They all turned to find a short man balding man standing in the doorway. The suit he wore was expensive and the odour of a cigar clung to his clothes. His expression was of one who was performing a duty that was unpleasant but necessary.

Everyone was quiet as they regarded each other. Then Karla broke the silence. “Herr Braun, thank you for agreeing to take them on short notice. We truly appreciate that you would do so and –“

 “Wish you didn’t have to ask me.” The words were icy, as Herr Braun spoke he didn’t even look at Karla. The woman flushed and then tried to pick up the thread of the conversation.

“No, it’s not that. I—“

“Do not lie.” Herr Braun turned to regard her with calm eyes. “You may leave now.”

Karla glanced uncertainly between the Jesselman’s and Max and Herr Braun, she shifted uncertainly. “Perhaps this wasn’t such a god idea after all. I can—“

“You will leave them and leave my house now.” The words were clipped and brooked no argument.

Still, Karla tried one last time. “Herr Braun, I—“

“You will leave my house now and they will stay...or I will detain you all and turn them in.” As he spoke Herr Braun advanced on Karla.

Karla cast one last regretful glance at the group of Jews she had lead to safety but ultimately decided to leave.

The door closed and then they were alone. Max and the Jesselman’s were all pale with shock at what they had witnessed. They couldn’t begin to figure out what to say. It was good because Herr Braun had a speech for them. He straightened up to his full height and regarded them like a predator does its prey.

His words were delivered with all the force of a death knell. “You are my guest here. I will hide you, I will protect you. But know this I don’t do this because I have any love or you. If I had my way I would have you all dead.”

There was a small intake of breath from Mrs. Jessleman and she pulled her children closer. Braun ignored the interruption and continued.

“You will get one meal a day. You will not do or say anything to attract attention, if you do so I will not hesitate to turn you in myself. Vertsethen?

 There was complete silence. Braun completed his command “Verstehen?”

This time the Jesselman’s and Max managed to stumble out a reply. Braun was satisfied but he had one last rule to enforce and this was the big one. “Know that my word is your life. Do as I say and live, don’t and you all will die. Whatever I ask is what you must do.”

There was a round of nods from the now frightened Jews. The baby had awakened and sensing the tension started to cry. Mrs. Jesselman’s quickly quieted it with a scared look at Braun. The man surveyed them one last time then turned and left. They didn’t have time to even process what had happened before a harried looking maid rushed into the room.

She stopped in front of them and grabbed a candle from the counter. They watched as she wordlessly lit it and then gestured towards tem to follow her. “I’ll show you where you stay.”

She started away and they followed after. The maid refused to meet any of their gazes or answer the few questions Mr. Jesselman’s tried to ask her. Max wondered what Herr Braun had told her to evoke such fear or quietness.

They would soon find out.

The maid led them through the back passages of the house and then up a dusty staircase. They stopped at what seemed to be a dead end.  At the last landing was an attic door overhead and a book case directly ahead. The landing itself didn’t have any rooms leading off, as the Jesselman’s watched the maid removed a book from the case. She reached a hand where the book had been a pressed a key into a lock.

There were small gasps of shock from the Jesselman’s children and widened eyes from the adults. The bookcase had swung outward to reveal a small room behind. It had one cot with threadbare blankets covering it, a rag that was tattered and chewed on by mice adorned the floor. Cobwebs hung from all corners, dust clung to every surface and drop sheets covered two dilapidated chairs.

The maid stepped back as she ushered them in. Quickly she stepped in behind, they watched in silence as she retrieved a lamp from a cabinet and lit it. Then she backed out the room, her voice was a mere whisper as she left. “I’ll bring your supper later.”

There was an exquisite silence. The children had ventured out to explore the room with tentative curiosity. Max stared around, the room was in better repair than the Hubbermann’s basement had been. And it would at least be warmer. But even though the accommodations was better, the place was altogether worse. Because the sense of foreboding that Max had was so thick he felt like he was drowning in it. There was something very not right about the Herr Braun and it wasn’t the obvious.  The fearfulness of his servants was a clue.

Hours later, supper came, it was soup so thin that water was probably a better description for it. Next was bread that was stale enough that it could have been baked months earlier and the texture would have been the same.

The sleeping arrangements were equally uncomfortable, after a short argument, the Jesselman’s agreed to take the bed and Max and the two older children got the floor.  In all fairness it was hard to say which was more comfortable. Morning came and with it the gnawing pangs of hunger, but nobody dared ask for anything more.

The two older Jesselman children were seated on the edge of the bed, crying ng quietly as their mother tried to comfort them. But there’s no words to soothe hunger.

Max watched them silently, then he crept over to his suitcase which had been brought with them. He opened it and saw the contents were disturbed, a quick search revealed that the money Hans had given him was gone, but luckily something else was untouched. He pulled out two chunks of the bread Rosa had stashed inside and then after a seconds thought a piece of cheese. Wordlessly he crossed to the two children who were still crying, with hesitant fingers he held it out.

The two children were almost comical in their shock. Tear-reddened eyes turned up towards Max, one child, the little boy, Wolfgang was caught mid sob.  Two small grubby hands reached out before their mother could stop them. Crumbs fell as they crammed the food into their mouths.

Mrs. Jesselman, Adele turned to Max, thanks was on her lips about to spill over but Max muttered, before she could speak. _“Bitte, keine Ursache.”_

He was already crossing to his side of the room as Adele whispered. “Well, thank you anyway.”

Max shrugged. It felt good to be able to do something for someone else. It helped alleviate some of the guilt. It made him feel that maybe somebody else, somewhere else had done another good deed. And maybe, just maybe that act had saved lives...It gave him hope that somehow somebody had spared his family.

The gloomy thoughts that always enveloped him when he thought of that last unsaid goodbye were already sweeping down.  He stared down at his hands trying to ignore the burning in his eyes and the trembling in his shoulders, when he heard two hesitant and soft voices.

“For you.”

He glanced upwards to see Wolfgang and his sister Charlotte, looming over him in childish innocence. Crumbs still clung to their clothes, their breathes had the faint odour of cheese and old yeasty bread. In an outstretched hand, Wolfgang held a small piece of bread. Charlotte explained. “You didn’t eat.”

Max tried to wave them off but the two children were insistent.  Reluctantly Max took the offer. Max, held the piece of the bread in his hands, the two children watched it with hungry eyes. And at that moment Max noticed just exactly how much their cheeks were sunken, and their clothes clung to their skins. He wondered how much willpower it had cost them to make the decision they had. Certainly more than he had at their age.

“We’ll share, _Ja?”_

Two solemn nods were his answer, but there was a flash of eagerness in two pairs of eyes. Max spilt the bread into three slices, two considerably larger and one quite small. He distributed to two larger pieces to the children and kept the other piece for himself. They didn’t apparently noticed the disproportion of the three portions. As two children their meagre feast, sleepiness began to overtake them. Warm weight settled against his arms on either sides. The little girl blinked her eyes awake and stared at Max, she tried to unsuccessfully to stifle a yawn as she asked “What’s your name?”

“Max.”

“Danke. Max...” The words were slurred by sleep, and almost cut off as eyes closed.

That was the start of something that Max had longed missed. The small family provided by the Jesselman’s enveloped him, in a way he hadn’t felt since he had left Stuggart. The Hubermanns hadn’t been able to provide the same warmth no matter how hard they tried because there was nothing that could disguise the dissimilarities between their situations. Hans, Rosa, and Liesel had the risk of hiding him, but they didn’t have the mere risk of existing. That risk, that fear was something that Max and the Jesselman’s shared.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> (German) versteht: Understand  
> (German) Saukerl: Bastard  
> (German) Bitte, keine Ursache: You're Welcome


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: There is a dubcon/non con scene in this chapter...it's more implied and danced around then showed shot for shot but please be aware.

Days passed and the Jesselman’s and Max settled uncertainly into the routine of the Braun house.  Adele, at the request of Herr Braun was soon employed during the days as a maid in the household. Max was left for long days alone in the tiny hidden room with nothing but the Jacob and the children for company. To pass the time and keep them quiet, he told Charlotte and Wolfgang stories.

They were, if anybody else that knew him had heard, thinly veiled recounts of his life.  Herr Braun after his first meeting with them when they arrived was largely absent. Sometimes they glimpsed him walking below through the subtle crack in one corner floorboard, or heard his voice, but that was all. However that didn’t mean they didn’t know him.

After all a man’s works is the best indicator of his character. That and how he treats those who he considers beneath him.  Time was the best teacher and Max, Jacob and Adele soon learned some very unpleasant lessons.

The first was learned late at night after one of Herr Braun’s banquets.  The maids were cleaning up and Herr Braun and his Nazi guest were lounging in front of the study fireplace. 

Adele was in the kitchen tidying up. She was far enough away from the prying eyes of Braun’s guest that discovery was unlikely but she could still hear the crude comments and laughter from the drunken men.

The other women in the house that Braun employed had given a grudging acceptance of her, but there was still a lingering uncertainty like they had a secret they were keeping also.  Adele wondered that the women could be kept quiet by Braun, surely the punishment he could inflict didn’t compare to the punishment the Nazi would hand out to anybody found knowingly going along with harbouring Jews.

Adele needn’t have worried. The other maids had worries of their own.  There were six of them total. Three of them were Roma, sisters in fact. One other woman was a Jew from France.  They each had targets on their heads and were paying their own prices for Herr Braun’s continued acceptance of them in his household. It was paid not with work but with their bodies.

The Resistance had little idea of what was going on or perhaps they would have put a stop to it. Either way Adele was about to get firsthand knowledge of just how much Braun loathed Jews. It was enough that those he had he didn’t protect, he let them live, but the price was their dignity. In return he got the satisfaction of revenge and money from those who used his services. For all purposes outright prostitution was not condoned in Nazi Germany, but that didn’t mean they weren’t willing to turn a blind eye to some aspects as long as it was out of the public spotlight.

“Renee, bring some more wine.”

A voice called out, instantly the woman requested hesitantly grabbed a bottle from the counter and without glancing at Adele left the kitchen. The movements of the other maids grew slower.

It was like they were all listening, waiting for the inevitable moment when they would be called. 

“Be a dear and give me a glass would you.”

There was silence then a voice called out. “So, Renee? Do you think I’m handsome?”

They all heard the maid’s voice, try to answer even though she was startled by the comment. “I-I don’t know...y-yes, I guess.”

A laugh broke out. “Don’t try to be modest sweetheart I see you blushing.”

There was more laughter and then the same voice spoke again. “My name is Reinhart, and I already know yours. Did you know you have a pretty face?”

Adele hesitantly moved closer and peeked out through the kitchen door to where she could see several men in full Nazi uniform seated around the fireplace and Renee standing near one.

“N-N—“

Before Renee could finish speaking. Reinhart reached out and cupped her bottom giving it a squeeze.  He smiled at the group of men seated near him and said loudly. “und hat einen festen Arsch auch.”   _And a firm ass also.”_ Coarse laughter followed his proclamation along with whistles.

Adele bit her lip to keep from speaking as she watched Renee’s face turn a deep shade of red. The soldier wasn’t finished; instead he tugged her arm pulling her down onto his lap. His hands moved farther up, caressing her head and neck. He leaned closer and whispered something to her. She shook her head, but the soldier merely stood up grabbing her arm as he did so. “Come along sweetheart.”

Renee gave another attempt to pull away but this one seemed more a matter of course then something she actually expected to be effective. The two disappeared up the stair case and the men remaining in the room continued their conversation like nothing had happened.

Adele glanced back at the other maids in the kitchen and saw with every averted glance and bowed head that they too knew what was going and had probably been engaged in Braun’s work a few times of their own. Half an hour passed and Reinhart and Renee came back into the room. The soldier’s face was glowing and he leaned over and whispered something in the woman’s ear before laughing and giving her a swat on the bottom. It wasn’t affectionate so much as possessive and degrading.

The man settled back in his chair with and chuckled. “You have good service Herr Braun, if only all men should be as lucky.”

Renee returned to the kitchen with her clothes askew and her face flushed with shame. The others gave her the only comfort they could—silence.

Night came and Adele returned to her husband and children. There was silence as she lay in the dark, her husband’s arms wrapped around her as if to protect her.

But as it is in war, as it is in life, he couldn’t protect, or his kids, or even himself.  When the war had first started he thought he could, and when he died he had finally tasted the bitter knowledge of the truth.

Adele woke up and went to work the next day. Her uneasiness was masked to all except Max. He recognised the tension in her shoulders, the subtle hints of fear in her eyes, and the lies slipping of her tongue. He alone recognised it because he was well acquainted with survival. And that was what Adele had now, no allusions, no promises, just the thick greyish shroud of survival wrapped around her, like the secrets she kept could save her.

*****AN AMENDMANT*****

**She wasn’t trying to save herself**

**Of this please be clear**

**A person will do many things**

**Things they dreamed of in their worst nightmares**

**But what a Mother will do for her children**

**That level of sacrifice is truly terrifying**

He started out subtly. Perhaps he thought himself clever; perhaps he wanted to take things more slowly, to try to make her love him. Or perhaps he wanted to tease her, to revile in his power, to destroy her little by little.

*****AN OPINION*****

**Personally I think it was the later.**

It started with a question. “How long have you been married Adele?”

She was startled by the query, and rightfully so. It had little to do with the task at hand, but she pulled her hands away from the plate she was cleaning and dried them on her apron. Her voice on quivered slightly as she answered.

Herr Braun gave no indication her answer had been of any importance to him, instead he moved closer. It was only those two in the kitchen...the other girls were engaged elsewhere.

It wouldn’t have mattered if they were near anyway. He had set his eyes on a goal and he would achieve that, Herr Braun was nothing if not tenacious.

He moved closer, Adele was frozen.  Partly in fear, mostly in expectation, her limbs were dragged down with it. Herr Braun was only inches away from her. He could have leaned forward and kissed her.

He didn’t.

Adele started as he told her ever so quietly, almost gently. “It doesn’t matter anyway.” She started to turn away but he stopped her with a hand on her shoulder, it was a firm grip. His fingers gripped her holding her in place, and his other hand ventured forward, down her cheek, past her collar bone to the comforting swell of her breast.

He leaned even closer; she could smell his supper on his breath. Warm fetid air caressed the side of her face as he whispered. “I keep everyone safe, but it has a price. The soldiers come for the others and would come for you too, but you’ll be mine.”

“ _Nein—nein_ ”  Adele started to protest, trying to move away, Herr Braun held her still, forcing her to look in his eyes.

“You’ll be mine, because I want you. For your family, for your children—“ She stiffened at that.  He kissed the side of her neck and then whispered in her ear, “Because if you don’t you will lose as much as I have.”

Adele didn’t understand his comment fully, she didn’t get he was trying to replace one loss with another. Trying to take the deaths of his wife and daughter and eke a feeling of justice out of revenge on others...so many others.

She may not have understood why he wanted her, but she understood what to refuse was.

***** A REFUSAL*****

**Her baby dying on the train to Dachau.**

**Her Husband shot before her eyes.**

**Her son and daughter gassed alongside their mother**

She reasoned if all she had to sacrifice was herself for everyone she loved was it too much? The answer for her as for many others was no, I doubt it would have even made a difference if she had known her sacrifice would save no one. She needed to hope, she wanted to hope. And hope was all she like so many others had left.

So when Herr Braun moved his hand down and caressed her nipple, pinching and rolling the supple flesh between his fingers she didn’t resist.  His hand ventured further south emboldened by her forced compliance.  Down her dress front past her navel. He slipped a hand under her skirt moving up her thighs; she shuddered at his cool fingers on her flesh.

Herr Braun grazed his target, soft warm moist folds, before Adele pulled back like she had been burned.

And she had. The flames of anger, and shame coursed through her body. She pulled back and they stared at each other. Herr Braun moved forward only to stop as voices came near and some of the other girls came into the kitchen.

Why he stopped was a mystery. It wasn’t like his lingering touches of the woman before him weren’t something he had done to almost every woman in his house. He reasoned he gave them life and they were in debt to give him whatever else he wanted in return.

It was an equitable agreement if you were a man like Herr Braun.

“Good night Adele.” Herr Braun said taking a step back his eyes still locked with hers. Before he left he placed a chaste kiss on her hands, like moments before he hadn’t been trying to take more. And he whispered so only she could hear. “Think on what I have said.”

Tears burned in Adele’s eyes but she finished her tasks and returned to her hiding place in the attic with her three children, her husband and Max. There in the dark she laid with her husband’s arm around her and the kiss on her hand burned like a brand.

Perhaps, Adele thought the impropriety in the kitchen was a singular event, brought on by too much wine and too much entitlement. She was wrong...so very wrong. The true nature of Herr Braun’s beneficence became only to clear.

Soldiers came at all hours of the day and night to the country side house.  Many knew that the girls were Jews, Roma, undesirables, and other’s pretended ignorance. But what they were made no difference when they were just a body. Just intended for one purpose.

Herr Braun was certainly enterprising, not only did he get his revenge but he also made a profit.  The girls served the men well for if not was to die. They paid for their lives with their bodies.

***** THE PAYMENT*****

**Clothes hastily shucked, bed springs creaking**

**Rough kisses on trembling lips, a heavy body.**

**Legs splayed open, grunting breaths, tears burning eyes.**

In the end they didn’t even save themselves, they delayed the inevitable. This is really all that every human can do against me. But the way they crafted there delay, in the end they lost more than the few weeks they gained. In the end they all went to the camps and they all met me so soon...too soon.

The first girl I took was lying in the barracks having never answered roll call. Red-brown spilling out from her wrist like an offering.  The sky was white, pure like the innocence she had lost. I carried her carefully, scooped up the broken pieces of her soul and melted into the waiting colours on the horizon.

Adele was caught a few days later. She had done her best to hide herself from what she saw around her. The truth wasn’t easily hidden from. She noticed the shame coating the women’s faces, the groping fingers of the men they served, and the ill disguised sounds of another’s lust.

Her husband did too, as well as Max. It was hard late at night to pretend the sounds they were anything but what they were. And so while the three children slept...the three adults in the attic laid awake and wondered at the price of living another day.

What was it worth?

Adele found out mid-day just a few weeks since they had arrived to the Braun residence. Herr had formulated a plan of attack.

He caught her as she was dusting his study.  His footsteps were soundless as he walked in the room. Adele had just finished dusting off a gold edged copy of _Mein Kampf_ he had on his desk.

She lingered on the book, wanting to toss it in the fireplace, to burn such words. But she didn’t dare. Instead she started at the gilded pages, and wondered how such a physically beautiful thing could be so terrible inside.

It’s funny how she would think the same thing in the next few minutes.

She set the book down just as a hand touched her shoulder. Adele gasped with shock.  The book fluttering from her grasp only to be caught at the last moment and gently restored to its place.

She didn’t notice the restoration. Instead she was staring in shock at the person who had touched her. Her eyes were locked on his face, his visage encompassing her vision.

*****WHAT SHE SAW*****

**Blond hair, a face that was younger than its age,**

**Some might say quite handsome**

**Lips curled back in the hint of a sneer**

**And an utter desire to have what he wanted**

**Her body, her mind, her destruction**

“Frau Adele, have you reconsidered my offer.”

It hadn’t been an offer so much as an irrefutable order. She had only two choices: To submit or condemn all the ones she loved to death...and that was not a choice.

“Yes.” Her voice trembled but she tried to make it strong, staring back into his eyes defiantly. Letting her eyes say what her lips could not. The contrast was terrible...exquisitely terrible.

“I will do as you say.”

“You will lie with me?” He already knew what she was agreeing to, but he wanted to make her hurt more, he loved the pain and defiance in her eyes and the acquiescent words on her lips. The dissimilarity amused and aroused him.

“Yes. I will lie with you.”

He wasted no time; his hands were on her hair twined gently in her curls. The study door was closed it was just them alone. No one to be witness to what happened next... but one Jew leaned lying on the floor eyes pressed against the attic floor boards watching the goings on of the house below. There was the tiniest of gaps...but through there it was enough for Max to see the betrayal.

He heard the words too...or at least enough of them to understand what she had done...for them ...for him. He watched and witnessed...that act of atrocity just like he would so many others.

It was always him.

The watcher.

Herr Braun leaned her back against the desk, pushing her skirt up with one hand as the other teased down her undergarments. Adele didn’t make a word as he forced his tongue into her mouth and his body into hers.

She didn’t cry out as she felt herself move in time with her tormenter.

She didn’t scream as he became rougher trying to force some reaction from her.

Inside she was crying and yelling and wishing for an end.

And above her, tears fell down to stain the attic floor. Crying the tears Adele wouldn’t suffer herself to shed; Max closed his eyes and prayed for forgiveness for his silence.

But his silence wouldn’t save them in the end; even though he kept the secret...things wouldn’t stay that way. The truth would come, small suspicions, until the reality hit them all with undeniable force. And when that happened, no one would be safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In Nazi Germay relations between Aryan's and non-Aryan individuals was called Rassenschande, which meant literally "racial pollution or racial shame". It was enforced by the Nuremberg laws and punished. Initially those convicted in the early years of WWII were sent to concentration camps for periods as a punishment, later the punishment extended to include the death penalty.
> 
> Nazi soldiers in WWII were also not legally allowed to rape Jewish and other women under this law, however to ensure they weren't caught they often killed the women they raped. Also there are accounts of brothels in concentration camps that were frequented by Nazi soldiers.
> 
> Additionally, the people harboring Jews from the Nazi genocide , had the people they hid at their mercy and while some were actually merciful others used the enforced silence of the ones they hid to their advantage.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If this chap is not up to par blame me and only me...it's not my fav and feels a bit off but one can only rework something so many times :/

Silence would save them.

Adele prayed it would be so. She begged it would be so. She laid with Herr Braun in silence, she cried tears as she lay in the dark swathed in it. And she kept her silence.

Silence was not to be a saviour.

She spoke not of why she was tired and quiet coming upstairs from kitchen duty. She was likewise silent why she smelt of thick gouts of perfume that only barely disguised the men’s cologne clinging to her clothes like a rank miasma.

Adele’s husband didn’t notice the difference...or at least he pretended not to have a reason to question her absences, and change in demeanour. But Adele knew her secret was known when she locked eyes with Max.

They stared at each other for a long moment, the significance of the glance lost to everyone but them. When they turned away a deal had been reached, her silence, her sacrifice...and all their lives hanging in the balance. 

It was a fair deal...it was the only deal.

Time passed for Adele with self loathing, and for Max it was probably even more. Adele was doing this for her kids...but he was doing this for himself. He was letting a woman sacrifice herself so he could live longer.

It was a few days later when her sacrifice became even more. And Max as he was so many other times was once again a witness. Herr Braun had a banquet, several high ranking Nazi’s came and Herr Braun trotted out his finest.  Wine, food, dessert, the girls...it was all the best he had to offer.

Adele was dressed in a blue dress that itched and a smile that was fake. She walked among the men dressed in Nazi uniforms. Some she knew was aware she and the others women should have been dead...maybe that was why they cared little better for them then they would a corpse. At least a corpse wouldn’t have had to do what they.

“Come here dear and fill my glass again.” Adele did as she was told; her hand shook as the crimson liquid poured into the glass and her legs trembled as a hand slid up her dress. It wasn’t Herr Braun this time.

It was the hand of a dark haired man...Reiner. He smiled at her lewdly undressing her with his eyes.  Adele didn’t react she stared straight ahead trying to avoid Herr Braun’s eyes which shown with displeasure.

He wanted her for himself, but he dared not interrupt. The money he received from the girls paid for a way of living he had grown accustomed to. And Reiner may have been a brute...but he was also a high ranking official in the Nazi regime.

Reiner knew of the goings on at the Braun house, but some things could be overlooked for the sake of pleasure.

At first he played nice, complimenting her, restricting himself to the barest of drunken gropes and comments. Adele tried to ignore him, and that only made him more interested.  She wasn’t allowed to play coy. She and all the rest of the girls were for his pleasure. He grew insistent, then demanding.

She tried to escape taking refuge in the growing pile of dirty dishes and desert dishes waiting to be filled. Reiner came in while she was setting out meringue.

She turned to grab a glass serving tray and the dishes of dessert fell from her grasp as she turned into him.  He caught the meringue setting it safely on a counter and in the same motion he pressed a hand against her back pulling her towards him. “You’re so shy sweetheart.”

“I’m not your sweetheart.” She didn’t mean to say the words, but it was too late. Reiner gripped her chin tipping her face up so her eyes met his.

“You’re whatever I say you are.” He kissed her. It was long and she tried to pull away but he held her still.  It wasn’t a kiss of lust...it was a kiss of power, to show he could.

He grabbed her arm and pulled her out into the dining room, some of the men saw them. Some whooped and hollered, others smiled and still others watched disapprovingly. But no one intervened as Reiner grabbed her pulling her up the stairs. He was trying for one of the rooms the girls shared with the men they bedded.

Reiner was more than half drunk though and his sense of direction was just as bad as his sense of humanity. Adele fought even harder to get away when she realised they were nearing the back steps that led to the hiding place of her family.

A hand flashed out, a red mark on her face appeared and her skin burned. “Keep still; this can be fun for you...or _just_ for me. It’s your choice.”

That wasn’t what stopped her fighting though. It was the close proximity to her family’s hiding quarters and the thought of angering Reiner who could with a word have Braun’s house raided and all the people he held within interred.

He started kissing her once they had reached the landing...a room was forgotten once he saw they were alone. It was private enough for what he had in mind.

He tried sweetness again, being playful, like what he was doing was something more than force. “Come on; give a soldier a little something. I leave for the frontlines in a few weeks, who knows I might not come back.”

*************

Max heard what was coming; he had been lying on his pile of blankets that served as a bed. The Jesselman children were asleep. A scrap of faded newspaper was held in his hand and his eyes roamed over the same words over and over again trying to ignore the sounds of the party below.

The trample of rushed footsteps brought Max to his feet and he walked to the door of their hiding place pressing his eye to the crack to see what the cause of the noise was.

They heard Mrs. Jesselman respond but the words were indistinct. There were more footsteps and then a soldier rounded the corner, with one hand he was tugging Mrs Jesselman. Her face was flushed and her clothes were partly askew, the Soldier that was holding her had the glassy eyes of a person who was at least partly inebriated.

Max heard movements and turned to see that Mr. Jesselman had moved closer. Two of the children had awoken were silently crouched in a corner at the far side of the room. Max watched Mr. Jesselman for a moment to see if the man would try to move out and the n turned back to the scene.

The soldier had started kissing Mrs. Jesselman now. His head was pressed against the side of her neck and as they watched he slipped his hand down her backside and began to inch her skirt up.

“S—“Max, turned to Mr. Jesselman and had just enough time to clamp his hand over the other man’s mouth. The Nazi had heard the cut off word and twisted his head around like he was searching for the source but after a few seconds he must have  decide he imagined it and turned back to the woman he was pressed against.

Mr. Jesselman tried to twist away from Max and Max caught him holding him tightly. He brought his mouth down to the man’s ear and whispered. “Be quiet. You must be quiet or we are all dead.”

Mr. Jesselman struggled against him and Max’s days as a fighter paid off as he was forced to put Mr. Jesselman in a lock, that had him immobilized and still he struggled.  Mr. Jesselman froze as they heard Mrs. Jesselman give a tiny cry. Wordlessly both men turned to the crack and watched.

She was struggling in the Nazi’s grasp, and they saw her glance fearfully in their direction. Even though she couldn’t see them it was obvious she was terrified the noise would attract them. Her voice was hushed. “P-p-please don’t do this.”

“You know you like me.” The words were half slurred and the man didn’t let her up from where he was pinning her body. Instead he tugged her dress higher and pressed his body closer.  “Just let go, relax.”

Max was forced to grab Jacob again as he lunged toward the handle which would open the door. Max clamped a hand over his mouth preventing him from crying out and simultaneously held him still. The children watched Max’s struggle with their father in terrified silence. Max finally hit Jacob and subdued him long enough to meet the other man’s eyes. “You must do this. You must be quiet.”

Mr. Jesselman’s words were whispered. “I can’t. That is my wife out there.”   
Max hit him. “You must, for her, your children for all of us.”

What Max didn’t say burned his throat. _For me_. It sickened him that even after all this time the drive to live, to do anything to have others do anything for just another day, hour...minute of his miserable existence, was too strong.

There was no time for argument. Jacob stared at Max uncertainty and then lunged again for the door handle. Max hit him again, and again until the man was about to collapse. Jacob Jesselman passed out; his face was a bloody mess.  For the moment Jacob was unconscious but Max couldn’t take any chances. He still clamped his hand tightly over the man’s mouth and held him so when he awoke he wouldn’t be able to move.

Across the room the Jesselman children were crying in perfect silence ad staring at Max like he was a monster.

Max felt like one, how could he not be with what he wasn’t trying to stop.  Feeling revolted with what was happening Max forced himself to watch, like somehow being a silent observer would make up for his inaction.

The Soldier was kissing Adele roughly, his mouth jammed against hers. Liquor fumes enveloping them both, his sweaty skin pressed against hers and his lips bruising hers as he tried to force her mouth open. He pulled away and lowered his mouth towards the side of her neck and began undoing the buttons on her blouse with his other hand. Adele cast another glance to the fake bookcase and the Soldier turned his eyes to where she was looking. “There’s nothing over there, keep your eyes on me sweetheart.”

Adele tried to speak but he silenced her words by placing his mouth over hers and kissing her roughly. He hitched her dress up higher and ripped a piece off as he did so. A part of her leg was revealed, peeking through the tear.  

All pale pink against tan stockings.

She managed to push him away enough to gasp out breathlessly. “Let’s go somewhere else at least. A little more privacy yes?”

The soldier laughed, and pushed her back. “There’s plenty enough privacy for us right here.”

“Please, don’t—“

“What is all this false modesty?” The man gripped her chin tilting her head up. “Herr Braun keeps you girls for this does he not? Don’t act like cooking and cleaning is all you do.”

“Please I—“

Adele tried to protest again, but this time the soldier pulled away and shook her. “Stop making excuses, this will be over in a bit if you stop stalling, and I can do this the easy way or the hard way.” His words were rough and as he spoke he gripped her arm tightly.

Adele gave a weak smile and Max saw her resisting the urge to glance at the bookcase.  She sighed and then reluctantly allowed the man to kiss her again. Her movements to struggle away from his grips ceased but her face was deathly white as he kissed her. The Nazi smiled at her sudden acquiescence. “There see this isn’t so bad.”

Adele tried one last time.  Her voice cut through Max, like bullet tearing through flesh.  He closed his eyes as he heard Adele beg. “I have a husband, please.”

“He doesn’t need to know about this then does he?” The soldier didn’t wait for an answer. Instead he grabbed her lifting her higher and pushing her skirt farther up. With one hand he fumbled with his belt and dropped his trousers. Max felt his skin grow cold.

Max glanced away, trying not to gag. He felt something wetting his hands and glanced down to see Jacob had awoken and he was silently crying. The man had pulled away from the door and was limp in Max’s grip

There was silence for a moment and then a grunt. Max turned back to see what was happening and wished he hadn’t. He turned away again, but that didn’t drown out the grunts or thumps as the wooden bookcase shook. Max crouched in the dark, hating himself for what he was allowing...or at least doing nothing to stop and that was the same thing. But there was nothing to do or they were all dead.

Minutes passed and then finally it was over. Jacobs’s face was wet. The children were still crying. Max wanted desperately to be sick and forget what he had saw...he wanted to pretend it hadn’t happened.  There was silence, in which they heard the Nazi breathing fast and his belt clattering as he fumbled with his clothes. Then there were the near quiet muffled sobs of Adele.

Max raised his eyes and watched as the Man straightened up, and winked at Adele who was staring ashamedly at the ground and trying in vain to gather her ripped clothes around her and a shred of dignity.  The man laughed slightly and kissed her forehead, in a sick gesture of fake affection that made bile rise in Max’s mouth. “See you around sweetheart.”

Those words were a catalyst. Adele began crying harder than ever. Max stomach convulsed. And Jacob Jesselman strained against Max grip and succeeded in breaking it.

Max wiped a string of bile from his lips and in the same movement threw his hand out catching the back of Jacob’s shirt. Thankfully the man was angry beyond words, but his hand scrabbled once more at the door handle that would open the fake bookcase. Max grabbed him and restrained him again. But the moment had already attracted attention. The small sound it created was noticed.

And this time the one of the occupants wasn’t so busy with satisfying his own desires to notice it or wonder what the sound was. He tightened his belt one last time and ventured towards the bookcase. Max had turned back to the small crack and watched as the man neared. Adele watched in fearful silence as the man ran his hands along the bookcase. Finally the man turned back to her, his eyes were mistrustful. “The area behind this is hollow.”

Adele moved closer. “It’s not. That—“

“It is.” His voice was assured. “There is a room behind here.”

“N-n-no..”

The man grabbed her arm. “Do not lie to me girl.” His eyes narrowed and then he spoke with precise words. “You know that there is a room back here and perhaps there are people back there also, yes?”

“N-n-no”

“Do not lie to me!” His grip tightened until Adele whimpered. “You think I do not know what you are? Perhaps you’re hiding  more Jews and your master doesn’t know?”

“N-n-no!”  But Adele’s expression gave her away.

 A cruel smile grew on the man’s face.  “You will die then. I have no love for whores, but especially not a Jewish _hure_ , and I have no love for Jews who do not know there place.” He released her flinging her against the wall as he did.  His next words had a very sick irony t0 me. “How dare you lie, _hure_!”

A large bruise was forming on the side of her cheek but she managed to speak. “Please, Herr Braun, just keeps a few of us girls for services that is all.”

The man regarded her in silence. Max held his breath simultaneously, scared, disgusted and angry. Jacob was rigid in his hold.

“Very well.” The man moved toward Adele  until he was leaning over her. “I will let this go; Herr Braun is entitled to a little fun even if I don’t agree with his tastes.” The man continued his voice dropping lower so that Max had to strain to hear it. “But If I find you are lying to me. I will have you and whoever you are hiding sent to the gas chambers.”

Then he was gone. His words lingering in the air unsaid. Silent tears dripping down three faces. Max blinked the moisture back from his own eyes fiercely. He had nothing to cry about, he had sacrificed nothing.

He had lost nothing.

And yet he had lost everything.

His skin burned with the guilt of it all. Max promised himself next time would be different. He then promised himself that there wouldn’t be another time.

Adele’s husband made the same promise. And between Max and her husband only one would keep the silent promise to themselves.

What happened wasn’t right and it wasn’t wrong. It isn’t for me to pass judgement on how he tried to save the one he loved and what happened because of this.

And even though I say this, that I see but do not judge, sometimes even the one who strips lies from everyone else can sometimes tell those same falsehoods to themselves.

So many broken souls and all those little pieces to collect make for heavy long tiresome, work.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a chapter, and yes the length is intentional.

*****A DIVERSION*****

**A tale of two friends,**

**Two lovers**

**Two lives**

We’ll venture away for just a moment. Away from the house in the countryside, harbouring so many secrets, and so much hate. Away from the pain and onto more. That is life…it’s so big and so bright that sometimes it burns.

I may not shine like the beginning but at least I don’t hurt as much. It’s hard to live, but the gentle grasp of my embrace is almost like a mother’s caress.

Walter Kuegler, was in his twenties, the exact year was not important since he had aged far beyond his years in the span of a few. He started out bright and optimistic, full of plans of what he would do, bursting with the arrogance of youth. He was the best, he was the brightest. The future was filled with possibilities.

And in his journey of finding his what-if’s and maybes, he met someone else who was just as equally bursting with possibilities.

Naturally they crashed, careening into each other’s egos and bouncing off. Shoves, then punches. Broken nose, tossed insults, wet red blood spattering the ground and gracing knuckles.

Teeth, white and shiny shown out against a mouthful of blood, and that was there meetings. Until the foolish arrogance of the young gave way to the slightly less more foolish arrogance of the somewhat older though almost still equally as young.

This was how they met, Max and Walter. Enemies turned to friends turned to something else that neither quite could express. Walter never knew what drove him to venture to the house of his friend that night.

The night of the broken glass.

The night of broken promises and promises made.

Under the cover of darkness, others were using the authority given to them by their uniforms to drag people from their homes and into waiting vans. Walter used the same authority for something different, he dragged Max from his home, using words and his will not sticks and hands, and he herded him to safety.

They were almost caught. So many times over the next few months—year? years? Sometimes, Walter forgot the time, he forgot how it was to not feel afraid, one wrong word, one instance of being followed, anything could be the end.

And more than for himself it was Max he worried for. Max …his friend.

It’s important to note, his, definition for friend was different than most.

He hide Max because if not he would have died, but he saved Max, for himself. In the time that followed Max weathered away day by day, and Walter found himself a little more. It was selfish, he was selfish and he told himself that everyday.

Max had lived, his family had died and it was all for one reason.

*****THE REASON*****

**Whispered secrects in a dark storeroom**

**Warm tears dripping onto his shoulder**

**Arms holding the other man tight**

**Lips, chapped and dry**

**Hair, drifting down in feathery layers**

**And eyes murky with fear, and pain**

**In the dark and the gloom Walter almost forgot**

**Max wasn’t his**

He had saved Max for himself.

Because he couldn’t bear, even if it would have been the safer thing for himself, for Max to die. His friend, his more than friend.

Max lost himself a little more with each day, but they had found each other.

It didn’t last. Nothing ever did. Time came, the war grew and Walter was called away to fight and Max hide somewhere else. In the basement of the word shaker. Under the foot of the painter, and the pea-soup maker.

They left each other with barely a glance, neither to see the other again.

That wasn’t the plan, that was the inevitable.

 _After the war, after all this is over_. They spoke the promises but each knew the truth…this was the end. The last meeting before each met the end that they had so long delayed.

Except what human’s think will happen is not always what does.

Max had grown, and Walter too.

And in the end, they barely recognized each other.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to all who leave kudos, comment or read.


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